Hermione Granger, the Slytherin
by Lizard23
Summary: Hermione, as a first year, is sorted into Slytherin. With both Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter fighting for her friendship, along with the ever protectiveness of her Head of House, Severus Snape, her career at Hogwarts is bound to be anything but dull. HGSS
1. Chapter 1

A brief intro to this fic. Yes, this _is _a HG/SS fanfic. NO, there will not be any sort of physical relationship between Snape and Hermione while she's a student at Hogwarts. Just so we're all clear and on the same page. :)

Basically, as the title and description suggests, this fic will explore Hermione's school years as she is sorted into Slytherin House. I'd like to follow canon as closely as possible, though there will be a few relationship changes that should be somewhat obvious with Hermione's new House affiliation. Those characters will namely be Snape, Draco Malfoy, Harry, and Ron. This is merely to say that their interactions with one another will be slightly different than cannon.

Anytime you see the asterisk symbol (*), this signifies a direct quote from JKR for whichever book we're in at the moment.

Other than that ... I'm quite excited about this fic. It's been on my mind for several months now, and I've been looking forward to putting it down with "pen and paper" as it were. This will likely be a novel length fic, so settle in a long ride! (For those of you following MM, I'm VERY much hoping that writing this will help lift the fog, and ideally work on both side by side.)

I_ always_ appreciate reviews. On that note, constructive criticism is most certainly welcomed in a respectful and professional manner. I am happy to take substantiated criticism, with thoughts on how to improve. I would, however, like to discourage any reviews that might go something along the lines of, "Hermione would never be sorted into Slytherin." Well ... obviously. That's why I'm writing about it and borrowing JKR's wonderful characters and not making a dime in the process. This is simply for entertainment purposes.

With that being said ... here we go.

- Liz

* * *

**Chapter 1**

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* * *

  
**

Hermione Granger stared dully out her bedroom window. The rain outside was pounding with little reprieve, making the green grass of her parent's yard annoyingly sloshy. On her lap sat an open letter inscribed with emerald green ink. She still didn't quite understand what it meant. What she did know, however, was that her little family had been in an uproar ever since it had arrived earlier that afternoon.

_I wonder, _the girl thought, as she tried to ignore her parent's arguing from the floor below, _how that owl was trained to deliver letters._

It had to have been from the zoo, she reasoned. Hermione hadn't been to the zoo for ages, but she vaguely remembered a show where hawks and eagles and other birds flew from one side of an auditorium to the other. The owl, she was certain, had previously been a part of that show.

But that still didn't explain the message _inside _the letter.

_To Miss Hermione Granger _

_11 Earl Way_

_Limpsfield,_

_Surrey_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)*_

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_The term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall _

_Deputy Headmistress*_

Hermione carefully folded the letter along the previously pressed creases and looked back out the window. The paper was rather fancy, unlike anything she had ever written on at school. That thought, however, did little to dull the ache that had formed in the pit of her stomach.

_I'm a witch_, she thought miserably. Those awful green creatures with black pointed hats and hairy warts who run about scaring children. That was what she was destined to turn into.

_As_ _if I'm not disliked enough by everyone at school already._

She sighed and tucked the letter into her skirt pocket, listening for signs that her parents were finished arguing with that old man who looked disturbingly like Father Christmas.

Eerily on cue, her mother's voice cut through the floorboards.

"Hermione, dear? Can you come and join us for a moment, please?"

Hermione's brown eyes momentarily flickered outside toward the summer downpour before she turned from her chair, arms around her knees, and stared ahead at her closed door. Without replying, she scooted off the chair and straightened her skirt, and then opened the door and made her way through the hallway and down the stairs.

The sitting room was an odd scene. Hermione's mother was sitting in her father's favorite chair, a hideous orange thing from well before Hermione was born, eyes red from crying. Her father stood stoically behind her with a hand resting lightly on her mother's shoulder, warily eyeing the thin, old man who looked liked someone Hermione might bump into on Halloween.

"Hermione," her father said with an odd note of contrition in his voice, "please, come in here."

She hesitated. She searched their faces as the rain continued to patter against the roof. Eventually she sighed, circumventing the coffee table slowly, and sitting down on the plush sofa closest to her mother. The old man was backlit from the hall light, motionless.

"Hermione," her mother began, her voice catching at the end, "there's something that you need to understand ... something that your father and I have only just come to know."

"I read the letter," Hermione said softly, looking to her feet without any real emotion in her voice. "I understand what it means. That I'm ... that I'm a witch."

"Indeed you are, Miss Granger," the old man said gently, speaking for the first time. "And I am so very pleased to inform you of the fact." He stood and moved with surprising agility, and Hermione found her neck craning upward to look him in the face.

_Pleased?_

He crossed the room and extended a sun-spotted hand without a sound, without the wood creaking. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore at your service, Miss Granger."

Hermione stared unblinking at the veined hand for a moment. That mouthful of a name was the same that was signed on the letter folded in her pocket. Was this ancient looking man the reason she was now a witch?

Slowly, as she extended her own little hand, she looked up at his face.

_At least, _she thought numbly, _he doesn't look angry just now._

On the contrary, Albus Percival ... whatever his name was, appeared cheerful and rosy; a true representation of the Father Christmas figure he so closely resembled.

"Hermione Jean Granger, sir," she said quietly, taking his hand.

"It is a pleasure, Miss Granger, I assure you." His lips twitched into a smile behind his massive, white beard. "For brevity and memory sake, my dear, you can simply refer to me as Professor Dumbledore."

Hermione's eyebrows shot upward. "You're a professor?"

"Indeed I am," he said amiably, moving to return to his sofa. He paused as he made to turn, and cocked his head slightly. "Would you care for a lemon drop, Miss Granger?"

_Never take candy from a stranger._

"No, thank you, sir."

He smiled cheerfully to himself, despite her refusal. "That's just as well," he said, reaching into his blue robes to pop the small candy into his mouth. "I am rather fond of sweets, you see. All the more for me."

Hermione's own lips twitched briefly. Not a smile, but not a gesture of rejection either.

"Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said, and his voice dropped an octave, "I understand this must be quite confusing for you. Surely, you must have a great many questions." He steepled his fingers, tapping them together softly. "My reason for being here is to answer those questions, and I am quite happily at your disposal for as long as you require me."

Hermione was horribly uncomfortable, her heart pounding along so fast that venous refilling was starting to back up. She thought of the letter in her pocket, could feel the corners of the parchment poking against her hip. And so, she asked the first thing that came to her mind. "How did that owl know to deliver the post to my address?"

Professor Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled behind half moon spectacles. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, as though he were about to embark on a very exciting story. "A very observant question, Miss Granger. Owls are how we," he gestured to both himself and her, "as magical beings communicate with one another."

"But ... I didn't know I was a witch," Hermione said uncertainly. "I thought it had escaped from the zoo."

"Quite quick on the uptake, my dear," said Professor Dumbledore with a genial smile. "Generally muggle-born students–students who have non-magical parents like yourself–receive their Hogwarts acceptance letters through the muggle mail first. However, seeing as you and your family were on holiday when the post was sent, an owl was asked to deliver the message to ensure it reached you." He looked about the room serenely. "An owl is much more difficult to ignore than a letter," he sighed. "They rather tend to leave a horrible mess."

Hermione chewed her lower lip in concentration, feeling a sudden sense of smallness. "So there are witches–people like us–who have ... magical families? They already know they are a witch or wizard?"

"That's quite correct."

Hermione frowned. "And they're not _upset_ by it?"

Professor Dumbledore regarded her with a sad smile. "Not at all, Miss Granger, and neither should you be. The term 'witch' has a much different connotation in the wizarding world than it does in the muggle one. A witch is simply a female that possess magical abilities."

"You keep saying the word 'muggle'," Hermione's father interrupted, his voice more tight than anything in recent memory. "I've never heard of any such word, even though the other terms are somewhat familiar."

"Ah, yes," said Professor Dumbledore, removing his glasses and wiping the lenses with the excess material of his sleeve. "Forgive me for not explaining. A muggle is simply a non-magical person, like yourself, Dr. Granger."

"So, would I be the only one at Hogwarts with non-magical parents?" Hermione asked, her small voice trembling slightly. "A muggle-born?"

Professor Dumbledore shook his head and smiled kindly. "No, Miss Granger, there are most certainly others. As the headmaster, I pay all muggle-born students a personal visit before the term begins to make certain students and their families feel as comfortable about the situation as they are able."

"But I still don't understand," Mrs Granger said shakily, before blowing her nose into her father's hanky, "how Hermione could develop these ... these abilities without John or I possessing anything of the sort."

"Ah, yes," said Professor Dumbledore. "That seems to be the thing about magic, I'm afraid. There is still so very much we don't know about it. The questions and variables and the unknowns are what make it, shall I say, for lack of a better word, _magical_?"

His eyes twinkled like a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

Hermione thought it was a rather bad joke, but she closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself. "So you're saying, sir," she began tentatively, "that because I'm a ... a _witch_, that I can do magic?"

Images of rabbits being pulled out of black top hats and face cards appearing out of nowhere flashed rapidly at the forefront of her mind.

A glimmer in the man's blue eyes appeared to be the equivalent to a full blown laugh. "But of course, Miss Granger! Tell me," he leaned forward again, "have you ever been able to make something happen, something that you couldn't explain?"

Hermione froze, glancing cautiously at her parents. Both appeared visibly shaken by Professor Dumbledore's presence and Hermione wondered what the professor had done or said to startle them so. There in that frozen moment, she swallowed and nodded slowly, and her mother let loose an audible gasp.

"You _knew_, Hermione?" she asked, batting at her eyes with her father's hanky. "You knew you could ... do things, and you never told us?"

"No, it wasn't like that!" Hermione cried, balling her little hands into fists. "It wasn't ... I didn't even know what I was doing! And it never would have made any sense to me unless ... ," she waved her hands wildly, trying to remember that horrendously long name, " ... unless Professor Dumbledore explained what he just did!"

Mrs Granger appeared rather startled by her daughter's small outburst and clutched the hanky to her breast.

"That is, of course, quite normal," Professor Dumbledore explained patiently, when he took in the distraught features of the Grangers. "For wandless magic to be made manifest in younger children when they are experiencing powerful emotions."

"Normal," her mother repeated hollowly, staring at some nondescript point in the room.

John Granger looked at his daughter with a quizzical expression. "Just what was it that you were you able to do, Hermione?"

Hermione sat back in the couch, staring at the three adults in the sitting room, wondering at it all. She fought the brief impulse to simply dash to her room to avoid the stares, but settled, instead, on entwining her fingers in every which way possible. "I didn't think anything of it, really," she said quietly. "I'd forgotten about it, until just now."

Professor Dumbledore looked over at her with understanding in his blue eyes. "It's alright, child. Go on."

Letting out an exaggerated breath, Hermione said in a rush, nearly tripping over her own words, "I once made a book move without touching it. One that I couldn't find."

Hermione's mother gasped. "You made it _move_?" Her brown eyes were wide and startled. "How?"

The girl shrugged. "I don't know," she said timidly. "It was a long time ago." Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip in concentration. "I just remember there was a book I couldn't find and I needed it for school. I searched through my cabinet and everywhere I could think of–-the den, the sitting room, _everywhere_ ... I simply couldn't find it."

She closed her eyes, feeling more determined now, lost in the memory. "I remember thinking in my mind how much I needed to find the book and out of nowhere – _woosh! – _it flew out from under the bed, right at me!"

Mr and Mrs Granger looked at their daughter as though she had grown a second head.

"And ... you didn't think to tell us?" John Granger asked incredulously, still with a reassuring hand on Mrs Granger's shoulder.

Hermione shrugged, her eyes downcast. "I didn't know if it was even real." She shook her head. "It didn't make sense. I thought I'd imagined the whole thing."

The awkward silence that followed in the sitting room was palpable. _Maybe they'll think I'm some kind of ... of freak now. Maybe they won't want me at all. _Hermione glanced warily at her parents, struggling to ascertain how they truly felt about the whole situation.

But there was no hatred or animosity on either's face, only confusion and disbelief.

"My dear sir and madame," Professor Dumbledore said gently, breaking the silence after a long moment, "is there anything further I can answer for you at this time? You know, of course, as it is, I am humbly in your service to provide you any information or knowledge that I can. I feel, however, that there is still much that needs to be discussed within your family circle and I am rudely intruding on that privacy."

"Sarah?" John Granger asked softly, looking down at his wife.

"No," she shook her head, glancing up at Professor Dumbledore. "No, I don't have anything more. I think this is ... enough to take in at the moment." She hesitated only slightly as the elderly man rose to his feet. "When is the deadline for Hermione to return a reply?"

"July 31," Hermione answered numbly from the couch, thinking of her letter.

Sarah Granger nodded. "Right. We'll make sure she sends a response by that time–whatever that response might be."

Professor Dumbledore looked down at the little family and smiled sadly. "Of course, madame. Thank you both for your hospitality this afternoon. The tea was lovely." He turned to the young girl sitting on the couch. "And it was a wonderful pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger. I took the liberty of bringing along your assigned texts for your first year of school so that you might have a chance to look over them and see, perhaps, if this school is something you'd like to consider."

Hermione perked up at this. "Thank you, sir." She looked around the sitting room uncertainly. "Er, where are they?"

"Why, up in your room, Miss Granger."

Hermione blinked. "But, how'd you get them up there? I've been either there or with you the entire time!"

Professor Dumbledore made his way to the front door and bowed slightly, his midnight blue robes rustling in the quiet of the room. There was that dry twinkle in his impossibly bright eyes.

"Magic, my dear Miss Granger. Magic."

And then Professor Dumbledore quitted the Granger home and strode out into the dismal weather, whistling happily to himself as the rain fell indifferently around him.

* * *

A week later Hermione Granger lay flat on her stomach atop her bed, feet hanging lazily in the air as she flipped through the pages of Miranda Goshawk's _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1). _The humid night air drafted in from the open window, with the warm pine smell of the woods.

"You're liking those books," her mother said by way of greeting one evening, grave and severe in the little doorway.

"Oh, yes!" Hermione replied excitedly, swinging her legs around so she sat cross-legged with a thick tome in her lap. "It's all so fascinating, mum! A completely different world! Instead of studying arithmetic, and science, and English, they study potions, charms, and history of magic – oh! – all sorts of things!" She laughed and folded her arms behind her head, leaning against the backboard. "If I'm going to be off to Hogwarts, I'll need to read ahead in _all_ the texts."

Her mother raised a trimmed eyebrow in question.

"I'm so worried everyone will already be ages ahead of me," Hermione explained, scanning over the books piled neatly at the center of her bed, "since most already know about magic. I don't want to be behind."

"I see," her mother said softly.

They stared at each other from across the bedroom, in grim mutual silence. Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes.

"You don't want me to go to Hogwarts, do you mum?"

Her mother looked back over at her sharply. "What makes you say that?"

Hermione shrugged. "I can just tell. Every time I've brought up a new subject or mentioned my books, you and dad both look nervous." She swallowed and looked to her hands. "And uncomfortable."

Mrs Granger shook her head, stepping into the bedroom and sitting on the bed beside her daughter. The mattress shifted slightly.

"You think I don't trust your heart, Hermione." Her voice caught. "There's nothing I trust more."

"Then I don't understand why you and dad don't want me to go to Hogwarts," Hermione complained. "This is where I need to be, mum. I'm sure of it."

Mrs Granger nodded, trying to reign in her emotions. "You misunderstand, dear. It's just a little hard on your father and I, is all. To have a man come into our home and tell us that you belong to another _world_ was like throwing the proverbial rug out from under our feet. It has nothing to do with going against what you want," she smiled softly. "It's more, I think, our entire perspective on the world; we're simply trying to wrap our minds around it."

The young girl instantly deflated. "Oh."

"You're our only child," Mrs Granger said simply, looking across the room to a family portrait that rested in a pool of light on her daughter's writing desk. "And this is something that your father and I aren't a part of. Some place we don't fit in or understand. Where we can't be together as a family."

After a long moment, Hermione said softly, "I'd ... miss you too. But, I've never fit in here, mum. Not at all." She looked up at her mother and met her eyes levelly. "Don't you see? There's a reason why I never fitted in. Why I don't have any friends. I'm not _like _everyone else. I'm _different_. And this place," she gestured to her books with a look of sacred reverence, " ... _Hogwarts_, this might be where I actually belong! Where I can make real friends."

Her mother looked down at her, her brown eyes somewhat startled. Then she sighed. "Oh, Hermione. You've grown up, love." She shook her head. "Your father and I want nothing more in this world than your happiness." She hesitated. "And if this is what you think will make you the most happy, of course we'll allow you to go."

"Oh! Really, mum? Truly? Oh, _thank you_!" She reached over and threw her wiry, little arms around her mother, nearly squeezing the breath out of her. "I'll write all the time," she promised, feeling one hot tear gather. "I'll find one of those owls and make sure it knows our address. I know I'll only be seeing you and dad on holidays, but ... "

She faltered. There was no 'but'.

"I know dear," her mother said simply. "It's alright. It is."

"Thank you," Hermione said, when all other words failed her. They looked at each other contently, happy to be at peace. "Um, where's dad?"

"Stopped to buy some milk. _You _drank the last of it," Mrs Granger accused lightly, smoothing down her daughter's wild hair.

Hermione chuckled. "Well, at least when I'm off at school, poor dad can save himself a trip."

"Yes," her mother replied dryly, "he'll be quite relieved, I'm sure." She paused and smiled, and then bent and kissed the top of her daughter's bushy head. "Come on. Help me set the table for dinner. Your books can wait an hour or two."

Hermione sighed dramatically, and her mother swatted at her.

"All right, all right!" she protested, holding her hands up. "I'm coming!"

* * *

Diagon Alley was unlike any place Hermione Granger had ever seen.

After passing through a grubby looking pub, where her father had pulled her rather close, and into the small, walled courtyard, Hermione had followed the instructions in her acceptance letter and, with her parents, made her way through an enormous archway that opened to a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

Stores that held cauldrons, supplies for a sport called 'quidditch', wands, banks, robes, and everything Hermione imagined Disneyland Main Street looked like stood before her, awaiting with eager anticipation.

"Mum! Dad!" Hermione exclaimed, peering into a shop that sold owls, "Can you _believe_ this place? It's amazing, isn't it? It has everything I read about in those books Professor Dumbledore left me! All sorts of magic!"

The Grangers, for their part, appeared rather startled and impressed themselves.

"I can't believe," Mr Granger said, pulling his wife close to him, "that this place is right in London; hidden in plain sight."

Mrs Granger nodded, somewhat baffled herself, as she glanced up at a snowy white building that towered over all the little shops. The sign on the front suggested it was a bank.

"Let's see," said Hermione, pulling out her letter. "I'm going to need a wand, a cauldron, a set of brass scales, a telescope, three sets of plain work robes, and – oh! – this all seems rather expensive!" she exclaimed, worriedly.

"It's fine, dear," Mr Granger said. "The money isn't a problem." He patted her on her back. "I think we need to head to that ... _bank_ first, as it appears magical folk have a different system of currency than the pound."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip, noticing a sign advertising a broom cleaning kit for sixteen Sickles.

_Sickles? How did I miss reading about that?_

The currency exchange went as well as could be expected, considering the initial surprise of goblins working the bank.

"Don't stare, mum," Hermione whispered up to her mother, when she started and accidently backed into her father. "It's rude."

"Well, of course," Mrs Granger said with a tinge of guilt, "I was merely surprised – oh, good heavens, that one's beard reaches the floor."

Passing through a pair of silver doors, Hermione and her parents managed to make it to the counter without further incident.

"Next," called a goblin at the end of the counter. His voice was harsh and deep.

Mr Granger walked uncertainly to the counter, looking down at the little goblin. "Er, yes, I need a currency exchange, please."

"Name?" the goblin asked.

"Pardon?"

"What is your name, sir?" the goblin asked again, slightly irritated.

"Oh," said Mr Granger, patting his pockets uncertainly. "Well, it's for my daughter. Hermione. Hermione Granger."

The goblin peered down his long nose and over the counter, making eye contact with Hermione. It seemed he had dealt with confused muggles before.

"Muggle-born?" he asked. "First time in Diagon Alley?"

Hermione shuffled her feet nervously. "Er, yes, sir."

The goblin perked up slightly at the title. "Come up here, then. Yes, that's fine." He looked back up at Mr Granger. "In addition to making a currency exchange, you'll likely want to set her up with an account here. She'll be able to make withdrawals without you needing to make subsequent trips. We'll exchange the currency automatically."

Mr Granger nodded. "That would be wonderful."

"Very well," the goblin said, hopping down from his stool. "I'll fetch the necessary paperwork for you to make an initial deposit."

"I say, would you look at _that_," Mrs Granger said after the goblin disappeared, adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder and nodding toward the opposite side of the huge room, "apparently there are all sorts of creatures and beings in your wizarding world, Hermione."

Hermione stepped back from the counter and peered around her father's legs. Walking into the room, very nearly making the tiled ground shake, was the tallest man Hermione had ever seen. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard.* Behind the giant, trailing him like a lost puppy, was a skinny boy with dark hair and glasses. He appeared to be close to Hermione's age.

"Wow," said Hermione, eyes following the pair. "I read about giants in one of the books Professor Dumbledore gave me, but look how tall he really is!" She smiled as she watched the giant and the boy. "He seems friendly enough. I can't see his mouth behind that awful beard, but his eyes are smiling."

The giant and boy made their way to the counter on the other side of the room just as the Granger's own goblin returned with the necessary paperwork to open a Gringotts account. While Mr Granger set about to filling out the forms, Hermione glanced at the giant and then at the room at large. Witches and wizards were interacting with goblins and giants and all sorts of creatures without any reluctance or animosity.

_Everyone is so different and no one cares! s_he thought excitedly._ No one minds if you're really tall or horribly short or ... or anything!_

She laughed once, incredulously. Maybe, just maybe, this world would be a place where she could finally fit in.

* * *

"We might as well get your uniforms," said Mrs Granger, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions as she looked at the list of items still needing to be purchased. Entering the shop, the were immediately approached by a squat, smiling witch dressed completely in Mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Hermione started to speak. "Got the lot here – there's a young man being fitted up just now, in fact."*

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Hermione on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over her head, and began to pin it to the right length.*

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"*

"Yes," said Hermione, smiling excitedly.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."*

"But that's against the rules!" Hermione exclaimed.

The boy shrugged noncommittally. "If you know the right people, it isn't."

Hermione frowned, trying to decide whether or not she liked the boy. At length she said, "I haven't gotten my wand yet. I'm more excited to get that than anything else. I've read all about them."

"Yeah?" said the boy. "I suppose I'm pretty keen on getting my own, as well. I hate having father and mother do everything for me. It will be so nice to be able to do magic whenever I want to."

"But we're not allowed to do magic outside of school," Hermione argued. "I read about it. Not until we're of age. The Ministry of Magic can trace the user's wand and you can get into big trouble. There can even be a trial!"

The boy regarded her strangely. "Blimey, you sure read a lot, don't you?"

Hermione smiled. "Oh, yes. I love to read."

The boy shrugged again, as if he didn't really care.

"Play Quidditch at all?"*

Hermione frowned, remembering the shop when she first entered Diagon Alley. She still wasn't entirely sure what 'quidditch' was. Only one of the books Professor Dumbledore had left her gave a reference to it, and the most she could deduce was that it was some sort of magical game involving brooms. As she was not particularly inclined to heights or physical activities where things flew at your face with rapid speed, she had moved onto more traditional readings.

"No," she replied, feeling that the safest answer.

"_I _do – father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree."*

"Oh," Hermione mumbled, not certain what more to say. "Well, good luck, I suppose."

The boy smirked. "Thanks."

Before Hermione could ask the boy if he had always known he was a wizard, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Hermione, turning to see her parents approaching, hopped down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.*

Hermione smiled. "Alright. See you at Hogwarts."

"Who was that?" Mr Granger asked, as he paid for the robes with the new wizarding currency.

"A boy who will be going to Hogwarts with me," said Hermione happily. She followed her parents through the door and back into the alley.

"Is that so?" Mrs Granger asked. "What was his name?"

Hermione started. "I didn't even think to ask him!"

"That's alright," said Mr Granger as they headed across the crowded street to Ollivanders. "You'll probably see him again once you arrive tonight."

Compared to the other buildings they had been in, Hermione thought Ollivanders to be a rather narrow and shabby place. A tinkling bell rang somewhere within the depths of the shop as they moved inside. It was a tiny place, with only a few chairs for her parents to sit on and wait.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Hermione jumped. Her parents must have jumped, as well, because there was a loud crunching noise as they both got quickly off the spindly chairs.*

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.*

"Hello," said Hermione awkwardly.

"And who might you be, my dear?"

"Hermione, sir. Hermione Granger."

The man smiled. "Well, welcome Miss Granger. I trust you're here for your first wand. Yes? Let's see." He pulled out a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

_My wand arm?_

"I'm right handed, sir. If that's what you mean."

"Hold your arm out. That's it." He measured Hermione from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head. Hermione suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between her nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.*

"Oh!" said Hermione. "What sort of charm makes the tape measure function on its own? I've only read about a few simple charms, myself. This one appears rather complicated."

"That's because, Miss Granger," said Mr Ollivander, " ... it is." He smiled briefly before getting down to business. "Right then. I'd like for you to try this wand. Just take it and give it a wave."*

Hermione took the wand and, feeling rather nervous about it, waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of her hand almost at once. This went on for several minutes, Hermione waving wands around, feeling rather silly, and Mr. Ollivander plucking them out of her tiny hand and giving her a new one.

_Oh, no! _She thought, horrified. _What if they messed up and I'm not really a witch? What if it Professor Dumbledore made a mistake?_

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere."* He retreated to the shelves, pulling down one more narrow box. "Let's see about this one. Vinewood with a dragon heart string core. Eleven inches, nice and bendy."

Hermione took the wand. She felt a sudden warmth in her fingers. She raised the wand above her head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of green and silver sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.*

"My word!" exclaimed Mrs Granger, getting to her feet. "How extraordinary!"

"Oh, she'll do plenty more than that, I assure you," said Mr Ollivander, taking Hermione's wand and putting it back into its box, wrapping it in brown paper. "You should be all set, then. That will be seven Galleons."

Mr Granger reached into his pocket and paid the old man and they quitted the shop, Hermione nearly dancing circles as she clutched the box that held her wand to her chest. "Did you see that, dad? Did you? I did magic! Real magic! And that's only just the beginning, just like Mr Ollivander said! I'll be learning how to transfigure something into something else, all sorts of complexed charms, and potions, and – oh! I can't _wait_!"

Mrs Granger laughed. "Calm down, love. Your train doesn't leave for a few hours yet."

Hermione beamed, following her parents into an ice cream shop. "Sorry about that." She looked up at her father. "Ice cream?"

"One last round before the school girl leaves," Mr Granger said fondly, tangling his big hand in her wild hair. "Just make sure that you don't forget to floss morning _and_ night while you're away. If you come home for Christmas and have even _one_ cavity, I'll make certain you don't return for spring term."

Hermione smiled and her heart leapt as her father playfully ushered her through the door. "Thanks, dad. I'll be sure to floss."

* * *

The early afternoon sun hung high in the sky as Hermione and her parents made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, and through the pub called the Leaky Cauldron. They hurried back to the Granger's car and, with careful rearranging, Hermione managed to pack her truck with her newly purchased items, scooting her books and her muggle clothing around to make room. She put her wand in last, a proud feeling swelling in her chest as she regarded the brown packaging.

At King's Cross, Mr Granger put Hermione's trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for her.

"We're looking for platform nine and three-quarters; I've never heard of such a thing," said Mrs Granger. "Although," she added thoughtfully, as she closed the passenger door to the car, "we _did _walk through a wall to get to that shopping alley. Perhaps it's the same thing here."

Hermione pulled her letter out of her jean pocket. "The very same," Hermione confirmed, reading the now worn parchment. "It says I simply walk right through dividing barrier." She shrugged. "Sounds simple enough, I suppose."

When the reached platform nine, Hermione looked up to find her mother crying softly to herself.

"Ah, mum! Don't cry, please!" she pleaded, grabbing her mother's hand. "I promised to write, didn't I? I'll do it, I swear!"

"I know, dear," Mrs Granger said, sniffing loudly. "It's just that we'll miss you. _Terribly_."

Hermione hugged her mother fiercely, turning her head to hide her own tears. She hated crying in front of her parents. She closed her eyes for a moment; the heat of her tears hurt. Her father, she saw, when she had the courage to open them again, was blinking very rapidly and clearing his throat.

"Dad?" she asked tentatively.

"Mind your manners, Hermione," he said, stepping forward to embrace his daughter. "Study hard and be the best student you know how to be." He paused and cleared his throat once more. "We're both _very_ proud of you, you know."

"I know. I love you, dad," Hermione murmured into her father's broad chest.

He pulled her closer. "And I, you."

She stepped back and wiped her nose, only to be fervently embraced once more by her mother. "Be safe, Hermione. Use your head. You're a bright girl. I'm counting on you to write."

"I will, mum," she promised, breathing her mother's scent in deeply. "I love you."

"I love _you_, dearest."

At length, Hermione pulled herself carefully from her mother's arms and she straightened herself, walking over to grab her trunk on the trolley. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. Looking back one final time at her parents, Hermione offered a smile, tentative smile. And then, turning around, she pushed her trolley forward and started to the barrier. Not able to bear the thought of looking back to see her parents tear-stained faces, she continued forward until the wall was a foot away.

She closed her eyes and walked, amazingly, through what appeared to be a solid surface.

A second later, Hermione opened her eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. The sign overhead said 'Hogwarts Express'. Hermione looked behind her and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters _on it.*

She had done it.

* * *

_A/N: Well, there you have it. What'd you think? I always love comments from the peanut gallery. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**

* * *

  
**

Smoke from the steam engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.*

Momentarily struck by the scene, Hermione took a deep breath, and tugged her trunk after her as she made her way through the thick crowd. After what felt like an eternity of dodging and bumping into waiting bystanders, she found an empty compartment to stow her trunk toward the back of the train. She tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice, she nearly dropped it.

"Want a hand?"

Hermione whirled her bushy head around to see a tall, ginger-haired boy that was likely a few years her senior.

"Yes, please," she panted.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"*

Hermione started as an identical boy casually made his way over, helping his twin heave the trunk up the stairs and into a corner compartment.

"Thanks," Hermione said. "I probably packed too much ... but I wasn't sure what all I'd need. I had _no_ idea it'd be so heavy."

One of the twins shrugged. "No harm done. You a first year?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

"Well, my name's George. This is my brother, Fred. Hope you're in Gryffindor. You don't seem entirely hopeless."

Hermione blinked, frowning.

"Only joking, eh?" Fred explained, patting her roughly on the back. "Lighten up a bit!"

"Oh," said Hermione. "Sorry."

To Hermione's relief, a loud, motherly voice wafted toward them above all other sounds. "Fred? George? Get over here this instant!"

"Well," said George, looking infinitely sorrowful. "That'd be us. Mum's likely to be going on about how precious _Percy_ is a damn prefect again."

"Rotten luck he's such a wanker," chimed in Fred, and the two headed off through the crowd without another word.

Hermione bit her tongue, only just retaining the restraint to ask them to mind their language. In the next instant a whistle sounded, distracting her.

With hands covering her ears to muffle the high-pitched scream, Hermione scrambled up the stairs and onto the train. Most compartments, she noted anxiously, were already full. It was a rather unwelcomely sight; the doors were shut, though she could make out the silhouettes of her future classmates as they moved around happily with their friends.

She stumbled down the middle aisle, just as the train lurched forward, and searched frantically for a compartment with an open door. To her everlasting relief, after a few moments of panic, she spotted one toward the end of the carriage.

Tentatively, she peered inside, and saw a round-faced boy with blond hair who was throwing the bench cushions onto the floor in a slight state of panic.

"Excuse me," Hermione said, biting her lower lip. "Is anyone sitting here? Everywhere else is full."

"What?" the boy asked. Hermione saw that he was rather short and plump. "Oh, sure. That's fine." He pried apart two cushions, feeling with his chubby hand in the crevice.

"Are you looking for something?" Hermione asked, entering the compartment and sitting on the opposite bench.

"My toad," said the boy. "You're not afraid of toads, are you? Gran says girls often are. She hates Trevor, you see."

"You lost your toad on the train?"

"Yes. Had him just a second ago. He hopped off my lap when I turned to check if my trunk was locked."

"Well," said Hermione, "the first thing you'll want to do is limit where he can go." She stood and shut the compartment door with an air of finality. With her hands on her hips, she added, "And no, I'm not afraid of toads. I'll help you look for him."

The boy perked up and smiled. "Really?"

Hermione shrugged. "Sure. I'm Hermione, by the way."

The boy blushed. "Name's Neville."

Hermione smiled. "Let's find that toad, Neville."

* * *

They searched the entire compartment, but to no avail. Hermione was currently standing atop one of the cushioned benches, reaching on her tiptoes to the overhead compartment space, moving her hand around blindly.

"Well he's not up here," she puffed. "Though I doubt a toad could have gotten all the way up to this height. I just wanted to be certain, of course." She lowered herself down to the ground where Neville was crouched and peering under the opposite bench.

"Anything under there from the twenty-_first_ search?"

Neville shook his head and stood, pale-faced and nearly tearful.

"Hey," said Hermione kindly. "Don't worry. It's alright, we'll find him. He's got to be on the train, right? Let's just go through the other compartments and ask if anyone's seen him."

Neville seemed to perk up at that, and a moment later, he was through the door and starting down a long row of compartments.

Hermione followed, her face smiling. She was certain they'd find the toad – after all, Neville had said Trevor had most definitely been on the train. _Maybe I'll be the one to find him and Neville will be so grateful that he'll be my first real friend!_

She knocked on the next compartment she came too, sticking her head in.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."*

A boy with ginger hair turned to her, looking very annoyed. "We've already told him we haven't seen it."*

"Oh."

She turned to leave but caught sight of a wand in the boy's hand. "Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."*

She sat down, excitedly. The only real spell she had seen had been the one Mr Ollivander performed, charming the measuring tape. She wondered what spell this boy knew.

"Er – all right."*

He cleared his throat. "_Sunshine daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow_."*

Hermione stared at the boy as he waved his wand. Nothing happened. And after listening to him cast the spell, she was quite certain that nothing would. It sounded like no spell she had read in any of her school texts, and more like a silly rhyme, instead.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?"*

"Yeah," the boy muttered defensively. "It is."

While she fervently disagreed and made a mental note to check the reference once she arrived at Hogwarts, she said, "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way – who are you?"*

"I'm Ron Weasley," he said, rather sullenly.

"Harry Potter," said the boy sitting opposite Ron.

Hermione's heart caught in her throat.

"Are you really? I know all about you, of course – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."*

"Am I?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked closer at him, and very nearly gasped in shock a moment later. "I saw you earlier at Gringotts! You were there, weren't you? With that giant!"

Harry looked surprised. "Er, yeah. I was there. With Hagrid."

"Is that his name?" Hermione asked. "I'd never seen a giant before!"

Harry smiled. "I hadn't either. He's quite nice, actually. He works at Hogwarts, so you might get to meet him."

Hermione beamed. "Oh, that would be wonderful! There's so much I've read about that I've yet to see firsthand. I can hardly wait."

"Yeah?" said Harry. "Me too."

"Maybe we'll all be in the same House?"

Ron muttered something suspicious under his breath.

"Well, I should probably keep looking," said Hermione, getting to her feet, "if either one of you see a toad, let me know."

"Sure," said Harry.

Ron Weasley said nothing.

* * *

After an extensive search of the train, Hermione and Neville had still not found Trevor.

"I didn't mean for those girls to scream when I asked them," Neville muttered, making his way with Hermione back to their compartment. "I asked _if _they had seen Trevor, not that he was actually in there with them."

"Don't worry about it, Neville," Hermione said. "I don't understand how they're so squeamish if what I read about potion's class is true. It sounds as though we'll be dealing with far worse things than toads."

He shrugged, his head low.

"Hey, cheer up. We'll find him," she patted him amiably on the back. "We just need to change into our robes first. We're supposed to be dressed properly by the time we arrive and I don't want to get in trouble on the first day. I'd just _die_ if I got detention." She tapped her chin pensively. "I'm not sure how much longer we have, but I'll change first and then while you're getting ready, I'll go ask the conductor how close we are."

Neville nodded slowly, clearly too distraught to argue otherwise.

Hermione was a good as her word; she changed quickly and practically threw Neville back into the compartment. "Be quick about it, Neville. And don't skulk. Hogwarts is stacked full of professors who could probably do some sort of summoning charm to find Trevor." She furrowed her brow, pausing. "Although ... I don't know what a summoning charm would do to a living creature. I'll have to research it more ... "

She trailed off as she headed up the aisle. Lost in thoughts on the theory of summoning charms, she accidently bumped into someone.

"Oh! Sorry."

Whirling around, the boy she had crashed into appeared rather angry, until a look of recognition swept over his pale face.

"Hey. You were at Madame Malkins earlier."

Hermione smiled. "Oh, right. Er, you got your wand, then?"

The boy smirked. "Of course. Ollivander says it's one of the best; I'm inclined to believe him. I'm Malfoy, by the way. Draco Malfoy."

"Hermione Granger."

Her gaze flicked behind him, at two thickset boys who looked a great deal like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," Draco said, waving his hand at the boys dismissively. "Our families go way back."

"Pleasure," she said to the huge boys. "It must be nice to know someone already. I don't really know anyone."

Draco shrugged, pulling a speck of lint of his pristine robes. "Once you're sorted, you'll know everyone in your House."

"Yeah," Hermione said uncomfortably. "I suppose. Well, I, uh, need to ask the conductor something – oh! Have any of you seen a toad on the train? There's a boy who's lost one."

Draco shook his head. "Who the hell would bring a toad as a pet. Sounds pathetic."

Hermione stared, her hands going to her hips on their own accord. "Well, just because _you _think it's pathetic doesn't mean that it is."

Draco smirked, leaning against a compartment door. "Whatever. Have fun with the conductor, Granger. See you at the sorting."

Hermione frowned and walked in the opposite direction.

The conductor, an amiable man of middle age, was happy to inform Hermione that they'd arrive at the station in less than a quarter hour. Running back through the aisle, Hermione stopped mid-stride as she peered into Harry Potter and Ron Weasley's compartment.

"What _has _been going on?" she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up his rat by the tail.*

"I think he's been knocked out_,_" Ron said to Harry. "No – I don't believe it – he's gone back to sleep."*

He turned to Hermione, annoyed. "Can we help you with something?"*

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"*

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"*

Hermione was rather tempted to believe that Ron was a rude and annoying boy. And so, before she left, she lingered at the door and said, "You've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"*

He glared at her until she left, Harry chuckling softly behind her.

* * *

Through the train windows, as Hermione made her way back to her compartment, she saw it was getting dark. Massive, foreboding mountains sprang up in the distance, and deep, thick forests were spread out under the purple sky.

"Neville?" she called when she reached the compartment. "Any luck with Trevor?"

Neville had changed into his school robes, but was sitting with his head in his hands, looking directly toward the floor.

"No. I've looked everywhere."

"Not _everywhere_," Hermione corrected. "You said he was on the train when we left, so he still has to be. It might be easier to spot him once everyone's gotten off."

"Yeah," Neville muttered. "Sure."

"You'll see, Neville. We'll find him."

A few minutes later the train slowed down and finally stopped. Everyone rushed into the middle corridor, pushing and shoving until the side doors finally opened. Following Neville down onto a dark platform, Hermione clutched her robes more tightly around her midsection.

"My word, it's freezing!" she exclaimed, her breath steaming in the chill air.

Neville, who didn't seem to be up for conversation, merely nodded, and wrapped his arms around himself.

To their right, a huge lantern was swinging toward them and then a loud voice called, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"*

Hermione saw the giant as he approached and simultaneously realized they were standing next to Ron and Harry.

Harry, too, noticed her standing beside him and whispered, "Hagrid's even bigger up close, eh?"

Hermione nodded her agreement emphatically.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Mind your steps now! It gets slippery!"*

"Hagrid? That is your name, isn't it?" Hermione asked timidly, pushing her way through the crowd. "Is there time to search the train really quickly? Neville's lost his toad, you see. We wanted to check once more before – "

"Trevor!" Neville cried happily, reaching up to Hagrid with both of his hands. "Where'd you find him?"

"Hopped onto the platform as soon as those doors opened," said Hagrid. "Picked him right up, I did. Figured he belonged to one of yeh."

"Thanks!" Neville said, putting Trevor carefully into a pocket in his robes. "Don't want him to get too cold."

Hermione smiled. "See, Neville! I knew we'd find him!"

His chubby face lit up. "You were right. Thanks for helping me, Hermione."

"All right, you lot! Follow me!" Hagrid yelled, leading the way with his giant lantern down a narrow and steep path.

Hermione slipped and stumbled in the darkness as she and Neville followed closely behind Harry and Ron. By the sounds of the students around her, it seemed they were having just as difficult a time with the terrain as she.

"Glad you found your toad," Harry said behind his shoulder once they'd been walking a ways.

"Me too," said Neville. "I've had him for ages now. I was scared I'd never see him again."

The narrow path opened unexpectedly onto the edge of a huge, dark lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.*

Hermione started, staring at the striking scene before her. She was tempted to pinch herself, to make certain she hadn't wandered into some elaborate dream. Hadn't she had breakfast with her parents this very morning at their quaint home in Surrey?

At that very moment, someone ran into her, nearly knocking her to the ground.

"Watch it!" cried a familiar voice. "Oh," said Draco, when he saw it was Hermione who was rubbing her elbow. "Keep running into each other, don't we, Granger?"

"My name is _Hermione_," she snarled.

"Oh, touchy?" Draco asked. "You're rather bossy, you know that, Granger?"

"And _you're_ rather rude."

Draco shrugged. "Ah, made friends with the famous Potter here, I see."

Hermione turned around to see a very angry looking Harry Potter standing beside her. "Leave her alone, Malfoy."

Draco held up his hands. "Easy, Potter. I quite like her, actually. Seems to know what she's talking about, unlike most girls that don't know a match from a needle."

"Yeah, well, if she wants your company, she'll find you."

"Four in a boat!" Hagrid called from the shore of the lake. "That's it. Hurry up. Yeh don't want to be late! Come on, then!"

Draco and his bodyguards sauntered past them without another word and Hermione and Neville followed Harry and Ron down to a boat.

"How do you know Draco?" Hermione asked as Hagrid helped her into the boat.

"He and his friends popped by for a visit on the train," Harry said angrily.

"You didn't get a fight, did you?" Hermione asked. "You'll be in _such_ trouble if you did."

"Relax," Ron interrupted. "We didn't get in a fight, so get off it, would you?"

Hermione frowned, folding her arms. The little fleet of boats moved all at once toward the castle. The ride was mostly silent but for the noises Trevor was making from Neville's pocket.

"Er, sorry about him," said Neville. "I suspect he's rather hungry."

"What do you feed him?" Hermione asked.

"All sorts of bugs."

"Well, _that's_ certainly pleasant," puffed Ron from the front seat.

Hermione suppressed the urge to kick him.

Eventually they passed through a dark tunnel and it seemed as though they were _underneath _the castle. A moment later they reached a sort of underground harbor and everyone scrambled out of their boats and onto a pebbled shore. Following Hagrid, the first years clambered up a stone passageway until they were on the wet lawn that sat in silent shadow of the castle.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"*

They scaled a flight of stone steps and then, with a moment of tingling anticipation, Hagrid pounded his huge fist on a massive door.

* * *

Severus Snape stood perfectly still in the dark space of his office.

The only light in the room came from the fireplace. It hissed and crackled as the last of the embers flared and dimmed in a desperate attempt for more oxygen. Severus breathed in deeply, steeling the contempt he was certain swept across his face – a ghastly white plain of harsh features that reflected the flickering light from the fire rather abruptly. Absentmindedly, he fingered his ebony wand, feeling the smooth surface of the wood as he slid it through his fingers.

His heart pounded as he thought of the Sorting Ceremony.

Severus' total disenchantment with students, in general, was nothing compared to the anxiousness he felt toward the one boy he knew would be attending Hogwarts this year. And this moment primarily, both dreaded and longed for, where he would see Lily Potter's child for the first time.

He lowered his head, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

Unbidden, images of _her_ flashed before his visual recall. Long, ginger hair, piercing green eyes. A flash of her throat as she breathed.

He shook his head, snapping back to reality, disgusted with himself.

_I don't deserve to live._

He regarded his hands helplessly, thinking of the evils he had committed. He was no better than his brothers who wore the mask of the Dark Lord, he knew. True, he had sworn himself to Albus Dumbledore, but that did not atone for the sins of his past. It was not enough.

It would never be enough.

Bracing himself, clinging desperately to the little restraint he had remaining within him, he somehow made it out the office door and warded it behind him, heading up the narrow stone staircase to the Sorting Ceremony.

* * *

Professor McGonagall was a tall, black haired witch with a stern face. Hermione, along with the other first years, had followed the professor through a wide entrance hall with flickering torches, around an elaborate marble staircase, and they were now waiting in an empty chamber off the Main Hall, listening as she explained about the different Houses in Hogwarts.

Hermione had read all about the four Houses in _Hogwarts: A History_. She had also learned that Professor Dumbledore had once been in Gryffindor. He seemed a bit quirky, but he had been genial, kind, and gracious, and so she felt slightly more partial to that House. Truly though, each of the Houses seemed to have admirable qualities. Courage, intellect, loyalty, and cunning wit. She'd be lying to herself, however, if she wasn't somewhat concerned with all the bad witches and wizards that came out of Slytherin House.

Beside her, Harry was whispering to Ron. "How exactly do they sort us into Houses?"*

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred says it hurts a lot, but I think he's joking."*

"Oh please," Hermione pipped in. "That's a load of rubbish. There's a Sorting Hat. One of the professor's will put it on each of our heads and then it decides where we'll be sorted."

Harry looked rather relieved.

"Oh yeah?" Ron asked. "And how do _you_ know?"

Hermione shrugged. "I read about it. Didn't you two read during the summer?"

Harry's short moment of relief appeared to fade into dread once more. Ron, however, seemed rather nonplussed.

"Well, we didn't have any reading assignments, did we?" he said rudely. "So I doubt it matters."

Hermione was about to retort when Professor McGonagall returned, ushering them forward. "Single file," she said. "And follow me."

The Great Hall was even more impressive than Hermione could have imagined. The photographs in her books, she thought, gave it little justice. The ceiling overhead reflected the starry, clear sky and the quicksilver gleam of the moonlight. There were hundreds of faces staring up and her and the other first years as they paraded themselves up to the High Table. As Hermione crowded with the others in the corner to wait, a sudden, horrible thought struck her.

What if she wasn't chosen for any House at all? What if she sat there for ages and ages and the hat never called out a thing? True, she managed to create a shower of sparks while at Ollivanders, but what if that was a fluke, that there had been some sort of mistake and she had to get back on the train?

Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a large roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"*

Hermione felt as though she might retch. She looked around frantically for a bucket.

For some, the hat shouted a House rather quickly. For others, however, it appeared to take ages.

_Please let it sort me. Please let me belong._

Each table shouted and cheered loudly when a new student was sorted into their House, clapping their new comrade on the back and making room for them to sit.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione managed to step forward, not really knowing how she put one foot in front of the other. She wasn't quite certain how she made it to the stool.

_Relax. You're a witch. Just relax._

The hat came down on her head, and her vision was completely obscured.

"Hmm," said a small voice in her ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of intellect, I see. Courage, too. There's talent, yes, and potential. So ... where to put you?"

_Please pick me. Put me where I belong. Anywhere I belong._

"Curious ... there's a fair amount of ambition there. A need to prove yourself, and true cunning, yes. Hmm, I know just where to put you."

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table went wild, standing and cheering.

_Slytherin? But all those bad witches and wizards ..._

Hermione removed the hat and turned to look at the Slytherin table. With the prompting of Professor McGonall, she shuffled slowly forward.

The faces that greeted her and patted her encouragingly on the back, however, seemed to counter any preconceived notion she had ever had about the House. Girls and boys of all different ages smiled and winked at her, nudged her playfully in the arm, and a few older boys gave her excited high-fives.

_Maybe those books didn't have all the facts. Surely not every bad witch or wizard came out of Slytherin. _

She looked around at her new housemates and smiled. With a overwhelming sense of relief that she had been sorted at all, she settled onto the bench, determined to represent her new House as best she could.

In the excitement of the moment, she didn't notice the frantic look Professor Dumbledore had given the tall man dressed completely in black.

* * *

Severus froze completely the moment he caught sight of the Potter boy. And o_f course _it was Potter. The boy was a virtual clone of his menace of a father. He knew this, already, of course, as Albus has seen fit to explain every detail of the boy's life to him.

_He has her eyes. Precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans' eyes, I am sure?*_

Involuntarily, he imagined her, young and beautiful and blessedly alive. Something caught in his throat.

Potter walked forward with the rest of the first years and Severus glanced away, refusing to look at the eyes behind his glasses.

He paid little attention to the entire affair, only taking note when a child was sorted into Slytherin. He studied those children, watched them carefully, took in their reactions and facial features. One such girl, a little thing with wildly bushy hair, seemed surprised she had been chosen at all. Granger, McGonagall had said.

The surname was completely unknown to him.

Taking a sip of his drink, he caught Albus' gaze off the corner of his peripheral vision and very nearly dropped his goblet. The old man was obviously panicked, and gave a meaningful glance at the bushy-haired Granger girl. Severus followed the gaze. The girl was smiling shyly at the rest of his Slytherins; Flint and Pucey were giving her emphatic high-fives. Severus looked back at Albus and didn't misunderstand the request in the old man's blue eyes.

_We need to discuss her. Immediately._

Severus looked back at the girl. She appeared rather unassuming, watching eagerly as the other first years were sorted. A few others were sorted into Slytherin, though Severus paid them no heed. Albus' reaction disturbed more than he cared to admit. The old man didn't get riled up easily, though Severus had learned when he did, there was good reason to it.

"Potter, Harry!"

Severus attempted to ignore the fact that his heart began pounding wildly against his ribcage.

The hat was taking an annoyingly long amount of time on Potter. Severus had thought it would be rather obvious where the boy would be sorted. His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when the hat cried out loudly,

"GRYFFINDOR!"

_Typical._

He looked back at Granger, who appeared visibly saddened Potter was sorted into Gryffindor.

_You and me both, girl._

He was distracted for the remainder of the sorting, his thoughts drifting both to Potter and the Granger-girl. His resolve was set. He would speak with Albus the moment the feast began.

* * *

Hermione was disappointed that both Harry and Neville were sorted into Gryffindor. She had hoped that at least one of them would be in Slytherin. Her only consolation was that Ron Weasley had been sorted into Gryffindor with them. She hadn't much fancied being in the same House as him.

She wasn't exactly pleased, however, that Draco Malfoy was sitting next to her. Strangely, he had been talking to her nonstop since he had sat down on the bench. Even stranger still, was that he was being friendly.

"What are you playing at, Draco?" she asked finally, when he scooted even closer. "You've been rude to me all day!"

"Well, that's before I'd knew you'd be in Slytherin," he replied, as if that were an obvious answer. "I thought for sure you'd be in Gryffindor with the rest of those idiots."

"Do you even _know _anyone in Gryffindor?" Hermione huffed.

"Yeah. Potter."

"You don't know Harry."

"I know he's a git. That he thinks he's the greatest wizard since Merlin."

Hermione stared at him. "Harry's not like that at all!"

"Oh yeah?" Draco drawled. "Well, how long have _you_ known the bloody Boy-Who-Lived? An hour?"

"Watch your mouth!"

"Oi! You two!" shouted an older girl at the end of the table. "Stop arguing, would you? Snape already looks furious and if McGonagall sees, she's bound to take points!"

"Who's Snape?" Hermione asked, instantly deflating at the prospect of losing points to her House.

"The man wearing all black with the long hair. He's the head of Slytherin and the potion's professor," Draco answered, reaching for a chicken leg.

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "How do you know?"

"He's a friend of father. They've known each other for ages."

Hermione glanced up at her Head of House. Surprisingly, the man was staring straight at her. She gave him a tentative smile before she looked away, embarrassed.

"He looks rather stern. How well do you know him?" she asked Draco.

"Fairly well. He looks out for Slytherins. You don't need to worry about him."

Hermione nodded, settling in to eat her food.

The feast didn't disappoint. After Hermione filled herself to the point of bursting, she was startled to see a shadow descend over her as she reached for a delightful drink called 'pumpkin juice'. Her hand froze mid-air.

"Miss Granger," a silky voice said from above her. "A word, if you please."

Her heart nearly stopped as she looked up to see the tall man staring down at her.

"Um, certainly, sir."

The man nodded and glanced briefly at Draco.

"Mr Malfoy," he said. "I trust you had an agreeable holiday."

Draco smiled. "Professor Snape. I did, thank you."

Professor Snape nodded again. "Follow me, if you please, Miss Granger."

Hermione trailed after the professor with a rush of panic. Was she already in trouble? Had the hat been wrong? Was she not really a witch? Why on earth would her Head of House single her out above the rest of the students?

Her little legs struggled to keep up with Professor Snape's long strides. And while her heart pounded with the things named and nameless he might say to her, he ended the silence.

"I trust you are wondering what we are doing, Miss Granger."

"Yes," she exclaimed desperately. "Please, sir, is it because I'm not really a witch?"

Professor Snape hesitated as they rounded a corner. "A foolish thought in the extreme, Miss Granger. Did not the hat sort you?"

"Er, yes," she replied, chagrined. "I just couldn't think of another reason."

"You shall find out soon enough. The headmaster asked me to fetch you."

_Professor Dumbledore? Oh, no! Maybe something's wrong with mum and dad!_

They scaled the great marble staircase and turned left down a long, seemingly empty corridor. Professor Snape stopped in front of a statue of a gargoyle, and without hesitation, he murmured quietly, "Acid Pops."

The gargoyle shifted and gave way at the password, and the wall behind it split in two, revealing a spiral staircase beyond. Professor Snape stepped forward and began climbing the stairs as Hermione scrambled after him. Surprisingly, the stairs began to move on their own accord, much like a muggle escalator, higher and higher. At length it reached its peak, and Hermione followed her Head of House off the stairs and to a polished oak door with a brass knocker.

"Aren't we going in, sir?"

Professor Snape looked down his long, hooked nose at her. "No, Miss Granger. It would be quite obtrusive to enter the headmaster's office without him being here."

"He's not here?"

His silky voice seemed annoyed. "As I _said._"

"Oh."

Hermione looked to her shoes as silence engulfed them. Severus, who was normally inclined to the very thing, felt oddly compelled to speak to her.

"Are there any in your family who have been in Slytherin, Miss Granger?"

The girl appeared almost embarrassed. "Er, no, sir."

They were saved, thankfully, from further conversation by the sound of the staircase moving again, and a moment later Professor Dumbledore appeared, looking slightly worse for wear.

"Ah, Miss Granger. How delightful to see you again."

Professor Snape's head snapped up and looked at the headmaster rather strangely.

"It's wonderful to see you too, sir," Hermione said uncertainly. "Have I ... have I done anything wrong?"

"Not at all, Miss Granger," the headmaster said quickly. "I need to speak with Professor Snape in private for a moment, and then I'd like a word with the both of you."

He drew his wand and conjured a chair out of thin air. Hermione tried not to gasp at seeing such advanced magic. "Would you be so kind as to wait for a moment?"

She made for the chair slowly, reaching out to feel that it was, indeed, real. In a quiet voice, she replied, "Certainly, sir."

"Wonderful. We'll be but a moment, my dear."

With another quick wave of his wand, Professors Dumbledore and Snape disappeared into the headmaster's office.

* * *

The circular room was illuminated by candlelight.

The moment Severus closed the door behind him, he whirled on the headmaster. "What is the meaning of this, Albus?"

"Something unprecedented, I'm quite certain," Dumbledore said, leaning against his desk and pushing back three separate paperweights.

Severus quirked an eyebrow. "Something that demands your attention more than your precious _Potter_?

"Do not try me tonight, Severus," the headmaster said sternly. "I only hope ... the girl hasn't revealed anything to her housemates."

"Revealed what? For the love of Merlin, Albus! What is going on?"

"You _will _lower your voice, Severus."

A moment later, Dumbledore sighed. "Hermione Granger is muggle-born."

Severus froze.

"What?" he asked, stupidly.

"I would never have pegged her for a Slytherin," the headmaster said. "I suspected Ravenclaw or Gryffindor; I never once thought of your House, however, Severus."

"You visited her family," Severus said flatly. "That's how she knew you."

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore, pinching the bridge of his nose, a gesture Severus had rarely seen the man use. "I visit all muggle-born families, as you know."

Stunned, Severus walked over to one of the office's many windows, staring out at the night's blackness. "I don't recall a muggle-born ever being sorted into Slytherin."

"Nor, I, Severus." There was a slight pause. "I trust you understand the severity of the situation."

Of course he did.

The general attitude of Slytherin House was that muggle-borns were second-class citizens, inferior and unworthy to practice magic. This was, of course, notwithstanding the fact that many of his students had parents who were Death Eaters. That the Dark Lord was currently not in power did little to comfort him. He had seen, firsthand, what Death Eaters did to those with "less superior" blood.

And there were some in Slytherin, he knew, who would do worse to the girl than simply make her life a living hell.

The thought made him shutter.

"Sort her again," he said, turning from the window.

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "You know I can't do that, Severus."

"_Do it_, Albus," Severus urged, stalking over to the headmaster. "It is too dangerous for her. Even I cannot protect her at all times within the common room's walls. She won't last to Halloween." When he saw Dumbledore about to protest he added, angrily, "Do you pretend to be ignorant of what happened at the Death Eater revels, Albus? Do you _dare_ pretend that you don't know?" His chest heaved with rage. "_That_ is what you subject the girl to."

"Calm yourself, Severus," Dumbledore said firmly. "I would never subject the girl to such evils. _You_ already know, however, that the Sorting Hat would not chose a different House." He gave the potion's professor a significant look. "Hermione Granger is, and will always be, a Slytherin. The question now is, how we deal with it."

It seemed rather obvious to the potion's master. "We have to lie."

"Yes," said Albus with reluctance. "I can see no other alternative."

Severus frowned. "Tell me of her family."

Dumbledore stood and walked to the same window Severus has just visited. "She is an only child. Lives with amiable parents that appear rather well-off. Dentists, if I recall. As for her extended family, I do not know."

Severus considered for a long moment. "No pure-blood will recognize her surname. That, in an of itself, is dangerous."

"Yes," the headmaster agreed. "The only plan I've been able to formulate has been for her to claim her parents as dead."

But that wouldn't work. Not completely. There were too many nosy Slytherins that could, quite easily, search for her parents' name. The wizardingly world was small enough – the pure-blood elitists were practically minuscule. It would not take long for the Granger's to be made as a non pure-blood family.

A moment of clarity hit Severus as suddenly as a strike of lightening. "We'll say she was orphaned," he said quickly. "That her parents were killed when she was an infant and she was adopted by muggles with no knowledge of who her birth parents were."

Dumbledore turned to him, raising a silver eyebrow.

"She'd never be able to lie about her parent's death for the rest of her life, Albus. She'd eventually slip." Severus paced the length of the circular room, working the problem out in his mind. "No one would question her blood status if she were ignorant of who her pure-blood parents actually were."

The headmaster appeared impressed. "The Grangers adopted her as a infant, not knowing their child possessed magical abilities." Dumbledore shook his head, smiling slightly. "A cunning plan, Severus. If she claimed the Grangers as her adopted parents, you're certain no one would question it? Search for who her birth parents could have been?"

Severus shook his head. "No, headmaster," he said quietly. "As we just discussed, no record of a Slytherin muggle-born is known to exist. That, alone, is her defense."

Albus nodded thoughtfully. "Would you be so kind as to get the door, Severus? I believe it's high time we speak with Miss Granger."

* * *

Even though Professor Dumbledore had told her that she wasn't in trouble, it certainly didn't feel that way. Both he and Professor Snape were looking down at her sternly as she sat quietly in a guest chair inside the headmaster's office.

Hermione briefly considered reciting some of the spells she'd read about, so they'd know, at least, that she _wanted _to be a witch.

"Miss Granger," said Professor Dumbledore kindly, "I do apologize for all the secrecy, my dear, but I must ask you, have you spoken to anyone while on their train or at the Slytherin table about your parents?"

_My parents?_

She racked her brain as the events of the long day flashed at the forefront of her mind.

"I don't think so, sir."

"We need to be quite certain, Miss Granger," said Professor Snape. Though his voice was velvety and soft, it was still firm and demanded respect.

She thought again for a moment and then shook her head. "No, sir. I haven't talked about my parents."

Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Very good, my dear. Now," he settled back against his desk, and Professor Snape stalked off to a corner of the room, "I trust that you read some of the material I left you over the summer?"

Hermione perked up. "Oh yes, sir. I read all of it."

The headmaster appeared somewhat surprised. "Truly? Everything I left you?"

Hermione nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir. Since I didn't know anything about magic, I wanted to make sure that I wouldn't be behind."

Professor Dumbledore's eyes flicked briefly over to where Professor Snape silently stood. "Then, I suspect," he said thoughtfully, after a moment, "that you read perhaps, a little, about the different types of witches and wizards."

She worked on her lower lip. "You mean, sir, how some wizards and witches are from all magical families and others aren't?"

"The very thing, Miss Granger," he affirmed. And then he asked, more softly, "I am certain in the muggle world, that you are familiar with the term 'racism'?"

Hermione frowned, not certain where the headmaster was going. "Yes, sir. Racism is the idea where someone thinks their own race is better than everyone else's."

"Quite correct, Miss Granger," said Professor Dumbledore. "A foolish notion, of course. Unfortunately, there is a type of racism that exists within the wizarding world that has nothing to do with the color of one's skin."

Hermione blinked.

"There are some wizarding families," the headmaster continued gently, "that believe only all magical families should be allowed to learn magic. That those who have less 'pure-blood' are not equal to them."

She froze, panicked. "P-people," she stuttered. "People like me. With muggle parents."

Professor Dumbledore sighed sadly. "Yes, my dear. Muggle-borns like yourself. It is a ridiculous accusation, of course, but racism has never been something that made sense, my dear."

"Are you ... are you kicking me out of school?"

"Certainly not!" the headmaster declared firmly. He then paused for a moment, as if unsure how to continue. "Miss Granger, many of those witches and wizards who believe 'pure-bloods' are better than the rest of the wizarding population are, and have been, in Slytherin House."

Her heart skipped a beat. And then she was certain it stopped altogether.

"That being said, it is imperative that they do not know your true relationship to your parents."

She felt small, sick, and as though she had done something horribly, horribly wrong. "I ... I don't understand."

Professor Dumbledore looked down at her with infinite sadness, with gentleness in his bright eyes. "Professor Snape has helped me devise a story that would, with your permission, I believe, make your life in Slytherin House no different from anyone else's."

Her brown eyes widened and she craned her neck, looking to the left to see Professor Snape. With his black robes, he nearly blended in completely with the wall. Her voice was quiet when she asked, "What story?"

"Nothing very different from what your life is like right now, Miss Granger," said Professor Dumbledore. "The only thing that you need to change in your thinking is that the Grangers are not your biological parents. That you were adopted."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Is that all?"

Professor Snape had made his way back to the center of the room. He stared at her. His dark eyes, she decided, were difficult to meet. "In a sense, Miss Granger, yes."

"But ... what do I need to know about who my real parents supposedly were?"

"Nothing," said Professor Snape darkly. "They were killed when you were an infant, you were raised by the Grangers –by muggles–, found out you were adopted at a young age, and did not know you were a witch until Professor Dumbledore came to your home and told you otherwise."

She frowned, trying to wrap her brain around it. "But sir, I don't understand. Wouldn't someone still be suspicious? Might they try to find out who my biological parents were? Like some sort of DNA test?"

"No, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said with finality. "For you are the first muggle-born that I have ever heard of that has been sorted into Slytherin House."

She felt the comprehension of it seep into her face, while her blood drained elsewhere, leaving her complexion ghastly white. "I'm ... _what_?"

"Yes, my dear," Professor Dumbledore chimed in, "in any recent memory, at least. I am certainly going to search the school archives, but it appears as though, for the moment, this is a first."

"Is there ... is there something wrong with me?"

"Not at all, Miss Granger," the headmaster said with firm conviction. "The sorting is absolute. You were meant to be in Slytherin House. Professor Snape and I are simply taking precautions to keep you and your family safe."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Hermione could feel both sets of eyes on her like a physical weight.

"I realize," Professor Dumbledore's soft voice cut in, "that this is very difficult for you, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, no one besides Professor Snape and I can know the truth of your birth."

Hermione looked up from her lap and stared at the headmaster.

"Do you think this will be something you can do, Miss Granger?"

It all seemed very strange and confusing. But looking up at her professors, at the grandeur of the room, and thinking of the magical castle they were ensconced in, Hermione Granger would be damned if she wasn't going to try. This was merely a minor setback on the road to what she hoped to become.

Steeling her resolve, gripping the sides of the chair, she looked up at both men and said with as much conviction as she was able, "Yes, I can do it."

The headmaster's eyes smiled and Professor Snape seemed pleased, in his own way.

"I will let Professor Snape escort you to your common room then, Miss Granger, as the other students have likely finished with their feast and will be waiting for you."

Hermione nodded and stood from the chair. Professor Snape walked ahead of her and opened the oak door for her to exit.

"Go down the stairs, Miss Granger, and wait for me outside the gargoyle," said Professor Snape. "I will be but a moment."

"Yes, sir."

"Good evening, Miss Granger!" Professor Dumbledore called as she descended the stairs. "Oh, I didn't offer her a chocolate. Here, Severus, give this to the girl once ... "

But his voice was cut off as the stairs curled around a wall and deposited her next to the statue. She didn't have to wait long, perhaps a minute or two, before she heard the stairs moving again and then saw Professor Snape stalk out of the tunnel.

He appeared slightly uncomfortable. "The headmaster asked me to give this to you." He reached out with his hand, and uncurling long, nimble fingers, revealed a wrapped candy.

Hermione grinned broadly. "That was very kind of him, but I'm not really a fan of sweets."

He smirked and put the candy into what she was assumed was one of many pockets in his voluminous robes. "I'm rather surprised, Miss Granger," he said, and started walking. "Most children relish the thought of chocolate."

She hurried to keep up with him. "Not me, sir. My parents are dentists, you see. Sweets are awful for your teeth."

"So I've heard."

They walked in silence for a long time, passing the entrance hall and then onward to another set of spiral stairs that appeared to descend into the bowels of the castle.

"I have a request of you, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said as they plunged into darkness.

Hermione kept her hand on the wall for balance, following closely behind him but careful to not trip over his robes. "Anything, sir."

His voice echoed up from the darkness. "If you ever feel threatened by anyone within our House, ever feel even uncomfortable, you are to come and inform me immediately. Is that clear?"

"But, sir," she protested, I thought you said that no one would – "

"Shh!" he whirled on her, eye level now, as he was several steps below her. "Do not speak of it!" He glanced pointedly around them. "The castle has eyes and ears, Miss Granger. You would do well to remember that."

"Oh. I'm sorry, sir."

He nodded once. "Now, do I have your word?"

There was something in his voice that startled her. A plea, nearly. She hesitated, only slightly. "Yes, sir. You have it."

He turned and descended further. "Good."

Professor Snape led her through several stone passages, illuminated by torchlight, around this corner and that. Vaguely, Hermione wondered if she'd be able to ever find the place on her own.

At length, her head of house stopped in front of what appeared to be a trap door in the wall.

"Welcome, Miss Granger," he said deeply, "to Slytherin House."

* * *

_A/N: Wow ... I didn't expect to update so quickly, but this chapter was too fun to write. I couldn't stop. Thanks for all the lovely reviews so far! They really are encouraging. In fact, I'm certain they were what helped me update so quickly ... so keep them coming. :) Again, there may have been a few minor changes to canon as far as when Hermione got changed into her robes or Neville found his toad ... etc. For the die hards out there, please don't hate me._

_The quote that Dumbledore gives about Harry's eyes is from DH, not PS, just so I've made that clear. All the rest of the quotes are from PS. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**

* * *

  
**

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on a chain. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in high-backed chairs.*

There was a clean smell like deep pine and fresh water, and Hermione wondered if they were somehow beneath the lake.

Draco, the only person she recognized, was sitting on an emerald sofa, smirking happily at her. His two bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, were apparently hovering around someone else at present.

"Find a seat, please, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said frostily.

Unfortunately, as the only open place to sit appeared to be next to Draco, Hermione had no choice but to shuffle over and scoot next to him.

"What did Snape want?" he whispered immediately.

"Nothing," Hermione lied. "There was a problem with my trunk getting here, is all."

"Ah," said Draco knowingly. "Probably the House Elves. They're incompetent, the lot of them. Dobby can't do a thing right – "

"_Mr Malfoy_," Professor Snape interrupted irritably, "as exciting a tale as you're likely regaling to Miss Granger, I am certain it can wait until after I've addressed you and your housemates."

"Er, yes, sir," Draco blushed. "Sorry, sir."

Professor Snape's face was impassive, though a deep fire stared out of his dark eyes. He stood perfectly still, waiting for the whispers and shuffling to die down, until he had the attention of every last person in the common room.

"I'll be brief," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "To the students above the age of first year, I trust you to remember the rules of Slytherin House." He glanced around the room significantly, eyes lingering on his newest charges. "To our newly sorted first years," he paused and regarded each of them, "pay attention."

Hermione sat tall, brown eyes watching her professor expectantly.

"As Slytherins," he said rather tersely, his voice carrying throughout the space, "you will be feared, distrusted, and even hated by students of the other Houses of this school."

Hermione blinked. _Hated?_

"For this reason," Professor Snape continued, "I will accept nothing_ less_ than House unity. At Hogwarts, Slytherin _is_ your family. Flint!" he shouted, and an older dark-haired boy immediately stood at attention. "Explain to our new housemates what this means."

Flint nodded. "Certainly, sir." He regarded the room at large and Hermione saw that he wore a prefect badge. "If a fellow Slytherin is in trouble, you help them – regardless the circumstance. Homework, getting to classes on time, defending one another in the face of ridicule from the other Houses. It is all encompassing. We protect our own."

Professor Snape nodded at the boy. "Thank you, Mr Flint."

Flint sat down.

"I can most readily assure you," Professor Snape said coldly, "that if Slytherin House is not united, it _will _fall – the other Houses picking off the pieces like scavengers. They will give you so sympathy, no mercy." He paused, walked further into the room, and stood facing the fireplace. All eyes followed him. "Divided," he said softly, making the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stand on end, "we are scattered and weak. I will _not_ stand for division within my House." He turned and looked out at his students. "Have I made myself perfectly clear?"

Hermione, along with her fellow Slytherins, nodded.

"In addition to the warnings the headmaster set forth at the Sorting Ceremony, you will find a list of rules on the west wall of the common room that dictate the specific expectations of this House. Read them. Study them. Become familiar with them." He swept up the few stairs that led to the portal hole. "Ignorance will not save you from punishment."

And with that, Professor Snape quitted the common room, his black robes billowing out behind him as he closed the portal hole.

"Well, that was a bit shorter than I expected," said Draco loudly once Professor Snape was gone, leaning back against the sofa with his hands behind his head.

Hermione was already scrambling over to the west wall to read the rules for Slytherin House when Marcus Flint eyed Draco warily. "Snape doesn't babysit. He expects you to figure things out for yourself." He nodded over to where Hermione stood. "Read the rules, Malfoy. I won't get in trouble simply because you think your name entitles who to whatever you want." He gave the young, blond boy a significant look. "I don't give a _damn_ who your father is."

Draco smirked. "Weren't you the one who just said Slytherins protect their own?"

But before Flint could utter a protest, Draco was already off the couch and sauntering over to Hermione.

The rules, in Hermione's opinion, seemed quite simple and straightforward. She ran her little index finger down the list as she read each of them.

_All students will return to the Slytherin common room no later than nine o'clock in the evening (Exceptions listed below)_

_All students will maintain punctuality for each meal in the Great Hall_

_Students will not –_

"Hey," said Draco, distracting Hermione. "You need help finding your trunk, then?"

Hermione dropped her hand and glared at him. "It's almost nine, Draco," she huffed, nodding to a silver clock above the fireplace. It had an intricately carved dragon coiled around it. "And the first rule on Professor Snape's list says that we _can't_ be outside the common room after nine. Besides," she added, turning back to the list, "Professor Snape helped me sort everything out earlier."

"Ah," said Draco, leaning against the rough stone wall. "Well I expect it'll already be in the girl's dormitory, then."

Hermione stared at him, with hesitation, with suspicion. "Why – why are you being so nice to me?"

He straightened, giving her an odd look. "Slytherins look after their own, remember?"

Hermione blinked, slightly puzzled. "Er, right."

"Well," he said after a moment, turning away from the wall, "I'm going to find Crabbe and Goyle. See you at breakfast tomorrow."

"Yeah," said Hermione. "See you."

She watched him saunter over to the left side of the common room to where she assumed the boy's dormitories were, jumping casually over a leather ottoman in the process.

_Strange day._

_

* * *

  
_

The first year girl's dormitory was a round room filled with several four-poster beds that were decorated elaborately in green and silver. Pine cones that smelled of cinnamon were gathered in wicker baskets at each of the room's corners, and tapestries of Salazar Slytherin and other great Slytherins hung in all their silent glory.

Hermione spotted her trunk beside one of the closest beds and she made over to it quickly, wanting to find a quill and some parchment so she could hurry out to the common room and copy down the Slytherin rules verbatim. Reaching for the first clasp as she knelt, she heard the faint rustle of robes from somewhere above her and glanced upward, startled.

A girl with a square build, heavy jaw, and black hair loomed over her. Hermione nearly threw her arms over her head to protect herself until she noticed, with a surge of relief, that the girl was smiling.

"Hi," said the girl. "I saw you come in earlier with Professor Snape. I'm Millicent Bulstrode." She held out a large hand. "Most everyone calls me Millie."

Hermione swallowed, pushing with her hand on her leg to stand. The girl had a good five inches on her. "I'm Hermione Granger. Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," said Millie. She turned to unload her own truck beside the adjacent bed. "So, you know anyone else in Slytherin?"

Hermione shook her head. "Only Draco Malfoy, and not very well. You?"

Millie laughed once, loudly. "Draco, eh? You better watch out for Pansy."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Who?"

"Pansy Parkinson," said Millie knowingly. She set her rather large clothes on her bed to sort through. "She's in the showers right now. She's been friends with Draco for ages."

Hermione frowned, pulling her books carefully out of her trunk to alphabetize. "She won't like me because I ... because I _know_ Draco?" _That doesn't seem right._

Millie folded a green jumper. "If Draco likes you _more_ than a friend, then I doubt the two of you will get on. I heard they've had an arranged marriage since before they were both even born."

Hermione's eyes widened. "People still _do _that?"

"Pure-bloods do all the time." Millie eyed her strangely. "What did you say your last name was?"

"Er, Granger," Hermione said nervously. "It's my adopted parents' last name. They're muggles, you see. I don't know who my birth parents were. I ... I think they were killed."

Millie gasped. "You have to live with _muggles_?" She made an unpleasant face as she pulled a pleated skirt from her trunk. "Ugh, that's awful." She paused for a moment, pensive. "Is it true they smell like animals? That they can't think?"

Hermione felt her face growing hot. She clenched her fists, fighting to control herself. She took a deep breath. "_No_ ... they're just like you and me, only they can't do magic."

Millie appeared surprised. "Huh. Mum always told me they were barbaric. Not civilized at all." She shrugged her broad shoulders. "Well, at least you got good muggles to look after you, I suppose."

Hermione ran her fingertips along the spine of a book. "Yeah," she managed, not bothering to look up.

"So, you didn't know you could do magic?" Millie asked brightly. "I bet that was a bit of a shock."

A small smile formed on Hermione's lips without any effort. "To say the least. I only ever thought witches and magic existed in fairy tales. I still keep expecting to wake up and find myself in my old room in Surrey, just as normal and boring as I always was."

Millie chuckled as she continued to sort through her things. Watching her move, Hermione wondered if the girl had ever played rugby, or knew what American football was. "Oh! Looks likes Pansy's _finally_ done. I'm going to hurry and shower so I don't have to wake up as early." She grabbed a silver robe and some pajamas. "See you in the morning."

Hermione smiled softly. "Bye."

A few moments later, as Hermione was stacking her texts neatly onto a little bookshelf beside her bed, the side door to the dormitory opened, and a wet-haired girl with a hard face walked in and threw her towel on the floor.

"You're Hermione Granger," the girl said without hesitation, ruffling her wet hair and reaching for a comb. "I saw you sitting next to Draco when Professor Snape was introducing the House."

"Oh, yes," Hermione fumbled. "I had a problem with my ... trunk. He was only asking if I had it sorted it all out."

"Hmp," said the girl, tugging at what appeared to be a vicious tangle. "Well, I'm Pansy and just so you know, Draco and I are betrothed."

"Oh, I, uh, I didn't think of him like ... like _that_," Hermione said in a sudden rush, needing the girl to understand she still wasn't entirely certain she even liked Draco as a person, let alone as a _boy._

Pansy's face became instantly pleasant. "Oh, _I_ wasn't worried," she said in a snobbish tone. "It's just, well, you know how boys are. Flirting and trying to kiss whomever."

Hermione stared at Pansy blankly, certain that she didn't have the slightest clue as to how boys _were._

She returned, instead, to alphabetizing her books, wondering what classes she might have in the morning. Once her books were sorted, she reached into her trunk and pulled out a family photograph. It was, by far, her favorite picture of her little family. The figures were still, unlike the moving portraits she had seen hanging all over the castle, but her parents were both smiling brightly, and Hermione had her arms wrapped around her father. She went to place it atop her little bookshelf, but hesitated, thinking of Millie's reaction to her 'adopted' parents being muggles. Tracing the wooden frame with her fingertips, she turned to see if Pansy or any other of the girls were paying attention.

Most of the girls were still unloading their trunks, completely oblivious to her. Pansy was struggling with that horrid tangle.

Bringing the portrait to her lips, Hermione kissed it quickly, tucked it back into her truck, and set about to unload the rest of her things.

* * *

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. There were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending.*

Hermione had never known such a marvelous place in all her life.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight (this qualified as one of Professor Snape's exceptions to being outside the common room after nine in the evening) and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.*

One of the most startling things, in Hermione's opinion, was the fact that History of Magic was taught by a ghost.

And poor Professor Binns didn't exactly have the ability to command a classroom the way Gryffindor's Head of House did. Though Professor McGonagall was extremely strict, Hermione felt, at least, that the Transfiguration professor was fair, as she rewarded Slytherin ten points their first lesson due to Hermione's efforts in transfiguring a needle into a match. Professor Binns, however, seemed to enjoy droning on and on with endless streams of names and dates, not noticing when anyone raised a hand to ask a question or to interject.

"I simply cannot _wait_ until we have Charms," Hermione exclaimed one morning later that week, tapping her fingers together excitedly as she headed up to the Great Hall for breakfast with Millie. "Miranda Goshawk's text is _so_ fascinating!"

Millie chuckled deeply. "Come off it, Hermione. It's Denfense that's going to be brilliant." She pulled up a bench at the Slytherin table and immediately helped herself to a pile of bacon. "We'll get to learn about all sorts of Dark magic."

Hermione smiled despite herself. Surprisingly, she had taken an instant liking to Millie Bulstrode. Though her intimidating appearance seemed to suggest otherwise, and though Hermione was quite certain the girl could have her in a headlock before she could curse Merlin, Millie was rather unassuming and quiet; she endeavored to prepare adequately for each of her classes, much like Hermione herself.

At the very _least,_ she seemed to steer Pansy Parkinson away.

"I'm interested to see the teaching regime for Defense." She poured some sugar over her porridge. "I don't understand how they can teach students about Dark spells without exposing us to them; it sounds dangerous."

"Exactly," said the larger girl with a wicked gallows smile. "You're not scared, are you?"

"No," Hermione retorted immediately, though she wasn't certain she was being completely honest with herself.

"Anyway," said Millie, taking a sip of the morning's pumpkin juice, "we've finally got Snape today for Potions. Pity it's with Gryffindor."

"_Professor _Snape," Hermione corrected absentmindedly.

The mention of Gryffindor had her mind instantly wandering to both Harry and Neville. She hadn't seen either boy much at all the previous week, but resolved to speak with both of them before Potions, if only to ask how they were enjoying their coursework.

Additionally, Hermione felt an odd sort of anticipation for her first class with her Head of House. Aside from Professor Snape's initial speech in the Slytherin common room, she'd seen very little of the Potion's teacher. He was always at the High Table at meal times, of course, though never smiling, and almost always severe. She had seen him once or twice wandering the dungeons, but he never addressed her directly.

His reputation held him as a man who tolerated nothing but perfection, one who demanded respect and order. Most students outside Slytherin seemed to fear him, and Hermione had heard more than one Gryffindor utter an expletive before his name.

"Millie," said Hermione slowly, once they had finished breakfast. Her brown eyes flickered up to her Head of House at the High Table. "Why do the other Houses hate Professor Snape?"

"Hate?" Millie laughed, grabbing a biscuit to take with her. She stood and motioned Hermione to follow out the double doors. "They _fear_ him is more like it. I suspect it's because he's so keen on the Dark Arts. _That_, and I doubt anyone besides Dumbledore could match him in a duel."

"Really?" Hermione sounded surprised. "Even Professor Quirrell?"

"Quirrell?" Millie snorted. "Haven't you seen him, Hermione? Snape would disarm Quirrell before he could even blink."

Hermione frowned. "But Professor Quirrell teaches Defense."

Millie shrugged. "Everyone knows Snape's been after the job for ages. He's studied up on the Dark Arts. Honestly, Hermione. Look at the both of them. Who do _you _think would win in a duel?"

Hermione paused at the massive double doors and looked over her shoulder. Professor Snape was regarding his plate rather uninterestedly and Professor Quirrell, who was sitting next to the Potion's master, appeared to be mumbling nervously to himself.

"Professor Snape," Hermione answered with a sudden certainty, and followed Millie through the doors.

Millie took a bite of her biscuit. "See? Told you."

Down in the dungeons, Hermione waited with her classmates for Professor Snape to arrive. It was cooler here than the rest of the castle, and Hermione distracted herself by studying the walls of pickled animals suspended in glass jars. Many of the creatures looked like something she might have seen in a muggle horror movie – _not_ that she would know, of course, as her parents forbid her from watching such films, claiming they'd give her nightmares.

Grimacing at a nearby floating rat, Hermione reasoned they were probably right.

" – Quidditch tryouts will be before too long. Last year both Fred and George were on the team. I suspect they'll make it again this year, as there aren't any other decent Beaters in Gryffindor – "

Hermione whirled her bushy head around to see Harry entering the room with both Ron and Neville. They came up and sat at the table in front of her, all talking rather loudly, though Ron's booming voice sounded above all else.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said cheerfully, once there was a lull in their conversation. "How are your classes going?"

Harry set his bag down and turned around, somewhat surprised. "Oh, Hermione. Hi." He ran a hand through his dark hair. "Er, classes have been good so far, I guess. I can't believe all the homework we have from McGonagall, though."

Hermione smiled. "Oh, I've already finished it," she said dismissively. "I'm really excited for Charms. It seems like _such_ a fascinating subject. Have you been to visit Hagrid at all?"

"No, but he's asked me to tea this afternoon." He grinned shyly. "I'm quite looking forward to it."

"I'll bet. Tell him 'hello' for me, would you? He seemed ever so nice."

"Sure."

Neville, who appeared frightened simply by the prospect of _being_ in the dungeons, waved nervously to her. "Hi there, Hermione."

Hermione beamed. "Hello, Neville. I hope Trevor's well."

The round faced boy blushed. "Er, yeah. He is. Seems to have taken a liking to Hogwarts and – "

"Oi! What you talking to the Slytherins for?" Ron Weasley interrupted rudely as he settled into his seat. "She's just trying to get tactics to beat us at quidditch."

"I am not!" Hermione replied hotly, stung by such an absurd supposition. "I don't even know who's on my House team!"

Ron snorted. "A likely story, Granger."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "It's the truth, _Weasley_, and I would never cheat at anything!"

He leaned over his table, sneering at her. "Slytherins will cheat at anything given the chance. Already it looks as though you've figured out a way around McGonagall. Don't bother with the act – "

"Ron," said Harry forcefully. "Shut it. She hasn't asked a single question about quidditch."

"Yeah," muttered Ron, "well, you just _wait_."

At that very moment, the door to the Potion's classroom swung open and hit the stone wall behind it so forcefully the students in the back rows felt the wind of it on their faces. Professor Snape stalked to the front of the classroom, pulling out a piece of parchment to take the roll.

Going down the list alphabetically, he paused slightly once he reached Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity_."*

Draco and the bodyguards snickered softly somewhere behind Hermione, though her attention was focused on Harry. He had ducked low into his seat.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Professor Snape began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every work – like Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."*

Hermione stared at her professor. _Stopper death?_

"Potter!" said Professor Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"*

Like some instinctual reaction, Hermione's hand flew into the air. Professor Snape's eyes glanced over at her briefly, somewhat startled. The next instant, however, his attention was back on Harry.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.*

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"*

Again, though she keenly felt for Harry as he struggled with the answer, Hermione could not help but throw her arm emphatically into the air.

"I don't know, sir."*

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

_Oh, Harry! Why didn't you read _Magical Drafts and Potions? _All the answers are right there! Some in the footnotes, but still, they're there!_

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"*

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"*

A few people laughed. Professor Snape, clearly not pleased, stood silently at the front of the classroom until all was quiet again.

"Your incompetence is rather unfortunate, Potter," he said silkily, "though not necessarily ... _surprising_." Harry's face reddened. "Let's see, perhaps, if someone had the fortitude to read ahead." He stopped in front of Hermione's desk.

"Miss Granger." Hermione looked up at him, her brown eyes wide and curious. "You seem to be under the impression that you know what I expect of this class. Please, enumerate."

She hesitated once, and only briefly. "Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite."*

In the complete silence of the classroom, it was difficult to gauge Professor Snape's reaction just then. His harsh face was set, though there was something stirring in his dark eyes Hermione couldn't quite place.

A moment later, Professor Snape shouted at the classroom. "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"*

The shuffling of bodies ensued, along with chairs scrapping across the stone floor as students searched their bags for a quill and parchment.

"Oh, and ten points to Slytherin, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled wildly and Millie patted her roughly on the back. "Nice one," she whispered.

At the table in front of her, Hermione heard Weasley muttering something to Harry. " – cheating Slytherins. The whole, slimy lot of them."

She frowned, disturbed that someone might have thought she cheated. _But how could I have? Professor Snape only just asked the questions. There's no possible way to cheat at that!_

Weasley met her gaze levelly, scowling at her.

Things didn't improve much for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson progressed. Working in pairs with Millie, Hermione was busily weighing dried nettles and crushed snake fangs when she noticed a cloud of green smoke coming from where Neville and a boy called Seamus were standing. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools as someone's melted cauldron twisted into a blob, and was now seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes.*

"Idiot boy!" snarled Professor Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"*

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop all over his nose.*

"Take him to the hospital wing," Professor Snape spat at Seamus.*

And as Neville and Seamus passed by Hermione, she gave him an apologetic look and whispered, "Sorry, Neville."

After working over a cauldron for the next hour, Hermione felt rather relieved the dungeons were as chilly as they were. She swiped at her sweaty forward with the back of her sleeve, right as Professor Snape instructed them to clean up.

"Miss Granger?" Her teacher's voice sounded above all else. "A moment before you leave, if you please."

She turned to nod at him, but he was already reading something on his desk, a black feathered quill in his hand.

She passed by Harry on her way to the front of the classroom. "Listen, Harry," she adjusted the strap of her heavy satchel. "I'm sorry if I got you in trouble for knowing those answers. I – I didn't mean for you to look bad."

Harry shrugged, though he was visibly angered. He took a moment to wipe his glasses on his robes, clearing the steam from his cauldron off them so he could see properly. "It's not your fault, Hermione. I didn't know Snape would expect everyone to read the _entire_ book before our first lesson."

"Greasy git that he is," Weasley muttered beside him.

"Watch your mouth!" Hermione retorted angrily, shaking an index finger at him.

Weasley scowled, and grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "Come on, Harry. Let's go."

Harry nodded and walked a few steps before turning back. "Too bad you're not in Gryffindor," he smiled with a shrug. "Wish we had gotten those ten points."

Hermione felt a smile growing on her own lips. "If you go to the hospital wing to see Neville, tell him I hope he's alright!"

Harry nodded. "Sure." And then he headed out of the dungeons with the rest of the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

At the front of the classroom, in the pure silence of the dungeons, Hermione shifted nervously from foot to foot until Professor Snape looked up from his parchment and regarded her. He nodded to a chair opposite his desk.

"Please sit, Miss Granger."

She walked over to the chair and pulled her satchel off her shoulder, letting it fall heavily to the floor.

Professor Snape looked up, his dark eyes flashing.

_Good excitement? Or bad?_

At length, he carefully entwined his fingers and sat them on his desk, looking out at her silently for what felt like an eternity.

"I suppose I am to understand," he said finally, softly, "that when you told the headmaster you had read all the material he left you over the holiday, you weren't simply speaking to hear your own voice."

"Er, no, sir. I would never lie to a teacher."

He stared at her blankly. "You have read _all _of your coursework," he said flatly.

"Y-yes, sir." His eyes were difficult to meet. Somehow, they seemed to know a bit too much. "I – I don't have any friends, you see," she admitted, embarrassed. "And I really enjoy reading. I wanted to make sure that I wouldn't be behind since I'm ... well," she looked around the room pointedly. " ... you know."

Professor Snape regarded her behind a curtain of long, black hair. "Indeed." He wetted his lips with his tongue. "I observed you today, Miss Granger, for the practical portion of class." She looked up at him, worriedly. "And it is clear to me, even after one lesson," he continued, smoothing the feathers of his quill with ink-strained fingers, "that you are not as hopeless as many of your classmates appear to be. Furthermore, if I have the approval of the headmaster and yourself and you continue to show interest and competence in the subject, I should like to give you the options of private lessons."

Hermione's eyes widened and she jumped off the chair. "Private lessons? Really? Oh, I'd love that, sir!"

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger," Professor Snape admonished, clearly annoyed. "I shall require the approval of Professor Dumbledore before anything, and you will need to prove you can keep up with the regular coursework."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said, settling back in her chair. "I understand."

"Good," he said crisply. "Now, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you, Miss Granger."

She fidgeted in the chair. "Of course, sir. But, with all due respect, I believe I'll be late for Charms and – "

" – I shall write Professor Flitwick a note," he interrupted, his voice cold. "This, however, takes precedent to what you likely have already read about, given your earlier confession."

"Er, yes, sir. I apologize. I'm ready to listen."

He gave her a strange look, but continued. "The headmaster has asked me to inform you that he visited your parents earlier this week. Given the fact that you were sorted into Slytherin and the ... predicament we three discussed earlier in his office, Professor Dumbledore felt your parents had the right to be informed of the situation personally."

Hermione's eyes widened and she gripped the front of his desk with white knuckles. "Oh, no! They weren't upset, were they? They're not going to make me leave? Make me go home and go to a primary school? Oh, I couldn't _stand_ if I – "

" – Miss Granger!" Professor Snape snarled. "You will cease this incessant mumbling in my presence this instant!" His jaw tightened, his voice low and furious.

For the first time since meeting Professor Snape, Hermione understood the compulsion of fear the other students felt in his presence. She snapped her mouth shut and regarded her Head of House, shrinking slightly back into the chair.

"You will _not_," Professor Snape said smoothly, "speak in such hysterics again, Miss Granger. Am I clear?"

She nodded once. "Yes sir," she muttered, her voice small.

"Good. Now, if I may _finish _what I was attempting to say," he cleared his throat, making it impossibly more melodious. "Your parents are naturally concerned. However, after a great deal of effort of convincing on Professor Dumbledore's part, both your mother and father agreed to let you remain at Hogwarts under the condition that if anything were to happen to you, you would be returned to Surrey immediately."

He regarded her critically. "I trust you remember what I requested of you should you encounter any problems within our House."

She looked up at him meekly, still somewhat chagrined. "Yes, sir. I remember."

His gaze remained fixed on her. "Very well. See that you do. Now, I suggest that you write your parents and inform them of your first week of school to ease their nerves. _Do not _mention anything specific about that which was discussed in the headmaster's office, Miss Granger, as owls have been known to be intercepted."

She looked to her fingernails. "Of course, sir."

"Look at me when you speak, Miss Granger."

She pried her gaze upward and met his dark eyes, almost levelly. "Of course, sir," she repeated quietly.

He nodded and scribbled something onto a torn piece of parchment. "Give this to Professor Flitwick," he ordered, handing it to her with his long, fine-boned fingers. "It will excuse your tardiness."

"Thank you, sir."

He returned to a stack of parchments on his desk. Without looking up at her he said in bored tones, "You are dismissed, Miss Granger."

* * *

Severus steeled himself before walking into his classroom, massaging his temples with his index and middle fingers where a commanding headache was taking up residence. He had the horrible foresight that the headache would grow exponentially worse with his next class.

The precious _Potter_ was involved, after all.

He had avoided the boy all week, blatantly refused to regard his presence at meals, and battled with his mind so that the boy, in essence, ceased to exit. It was for naught, of course. The more he forced himself to avoid the ever worshipped Boy-Who-Lived, the more, in reality, in recognized he was there. The only consolation he now had was knowing he was about to deduct a great many points from Gryffindor – hopefully teaching the whelp not to cross him in the process.

He may have promised to physically protect the boy but he would not – _could not _– look at that James Potter look-a-like without feeling the most vile revulsion.

He swept into his classroom in a more dramatic fashion than he normally allowed himself, but he didn't care. _Let them – him – be frightened. _He immediately made for his desk, snatching the role Dumbledore had left for him. Without any introduction he went down the list of names, calling each student to see who was present and to put a face to each name – _easier for deducting House points._

When he reached Potter's name, he hesitated.

"Ah, yes," he said quietly. "Mr Potter. Our new – _celebrity."*_

The boy looked up at him, confused.

_Do not look at his eyes. Do not look at his eyes._

He introduced the subject of potions as he did each and every year, carefully regarding the boy out of the corner of his eye. The Weasley child – _how many times had that family managed to reproduce? – _was whispering something in his ear. Instantly enraged, Severus did next best thing aside from cursing the boy; he whirled on him, asking that which he knew Potter would not know, what no one would know – humiliating the boy as his father had done to him, time and time again.

What he did not expect, however, was for Miss Granger to raise her hand at each question he threw at Potter.

But she couldn't know. It was impossible. He hadn't intended for _anyone_ to know the answers, which was why he spat the questions at Potter in the first place. But there she was, little, and skinny, and a mass of atrocious hair, looking up at him with an expectant waving hand, waiting for him to call upon her.

After sufficiently humiliating Potter to where he felt temporarily satisfied, he turned to her, regarding her fully. Her teeth were too large – that much was obvious – and her face was nearly as pale as his own but for the scattering of endless freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones. Her brown eyes, surprisingly, were not a forgettable, dull color, but vibrant and bright. Striking, even.

_She couldn't know_, he told himself again, not relishing the thought of having to deduct points from Slytherin when she gave the incorrect answer. But there was something in her eyes, insistent and knowing, that caught him; and he, the more foolish for it, called on her and allowed her to speak.

And she recited, practically verbatim, the correct answer to each question.

_Impossible._

Something caught in his chest as he looked down at her, at this poor, eager, muggle-born girl who had been thrown into a world and a House that despised her.

Somehow, he gathered the ability to speak and awarded Slytherin House points, while simultaneously explaining the practical portion of the lesson.

And as the students fumbled idiotically through their bags and potion's kits, he watched her, intent on discovering if her answers were some sort of odd coincidence or fluke, or if the girl, truly, was gifted.

Halfway into the lesson, he was inclined to believe the later.

Miss Granger had carefully prepared and chopped the potion's ingredients with the utmost care and precision, explaining to the large Bulstrode girl each of the steps as they worked side by side. As she regarded the potion, he caught the inner workings of her little mind as she explained aloud why they were completing each step. He was so engrossed in the startling intellect of the girl that it took him a moment to realize one of the Gryffindors had managed to melt a cauldron, very nearly destroying his classroom.

His rage has been intense. Not caring who the boy's parents were in that moment, he had sent Longbottom to the hospital wing with surprising wrath.

_The directions were written plainly! How can one manage to muck up the easiest of instructions?_

He calmed himself by taking needless points off Potter and returning to his desk to observe Miss Granger. She was working furiously over her cauldron. Having rolled up her sleeves and doing an appallingly bad job of tying her hair behind her ears, he could see the sheen of sweat on her brow as she worked.

_I wonder ..._

He could never take on an apprentice, nor did he wish to. But perhaps, with some coaxing to Albus, he could instruct the girl separately from class, in private lessons. Even after only one lesson he could see she had potential. Perhaps he could mold and shape her mind, busying himself enough to take his own thoughts away from the emptiness that ate away at him.

Inevitably, if he ever had a moment's peace, where he wasn't focused on his course curriculum or research, his thoughts would wander to ... _her, _and he could hardly breathe to stand the torment.

_Perhaps, _he mused ruefully, _this is fitting punishment for my sins. My own hell. To dwell and yearn after that which I could never have. To drown in everlasting guilt._

He shook his head decidedly. He would speak with Albus, would beg if need be. He needed something to occupy his time. His thoughts, his memories, were eating away at him slowly, and if he had more time to think on the matter, he wondered if he would take leave of all his faculties completely. He could not end his own life – no. He had tried that once and failed; had been foolish enough to not simply use magic to do it. Albus had found him, naturally, and had forced him to make another damned Unbreakable Vow that he wouldn't attempt to harm himself that way ever again.

Severus contented himself with watching Miss Granger as she cleaned up her things. Immediately, he requested her presence before she left, and looked to his desk before he could see her response. When he looked again she was speaking with Potter, and a sudden, intense rage roared to life in his chest. _Why would she align herself with that ... whelp – with him – of all Gryffindors? _With Weasley, at least, there appeared to be some sort of animosity.

He would watch Weasley closely, then, to make certain the bad blood between them was nothing more than that – a mutual disliking.

Miss Granger approached his desk slowly, as uncertain as any child he had ever seen. He bid her to sit, and when he mentioned the prospect of private lessons, he thought she might literally burst with excitement. He berated her, naturally, as no Slytherin could ever have the reputation of acting like a bumbling Gryffindor – which most certainly _was_ how she reacted. She was obedient, at least, and listened carefully, and he thought better of her because of it.

When he dismissed her, the prospect of having something_ other_ than his misery and guilt to consume him felt like the most precious gift Merlin could ever bestow upon him.

Severus' resolve was set, he would speak to Albus the first moment he was able.

Until that time, however, he feared closing his eyes, feared letting his memories sweep him away where he was young and innocent and a ginger-haired girl danced around in circles in his head, over and over again.

_You're a coward, Severus. That's all you'll ever be. A coward._

_

* * *

A/N: First thing, before I get any hate mail, I do not know whether Draco and Pansy were ever officially betrothed or not in canon ... but I thought I would play with it. Whether or not it actually is true and not Pansy simply claiming a right over what she thinks is hers, we'll just have to wait and see. :) LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the encouraging reviews so far. If you enjoyed this chapter, please feel free to tell me about it. And if you didn't (shrugs), tell me what you think I can improve upon. If you review, the updates will come. :) _


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

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* * *

  
**

Hermione was halfway back to the dungeons when she heard them. The stairs streaked away beneath her, the gray stone cold and endless.

" – I _told you_ on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts."

"Yeah, but you didn't mention the date, Ron."

"How was _I_ supposed to know that mattered?"

Coming off the last step, Hermione rounded the corner toward the Entrance Hall – and barreled straight into both Harry and ... Weasley. Her satchel flew from her shoulder, hitting the ground at an odd angle, and her books, quills, and ink scattered in every direction. She, too, would have met a similar fate, if Harry hadn't grabbed her elbow.

"Oi! Watch it, Granger, would you? Trying to kill someone?" Weasley shouted at her, his face red. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder, scowling at her fiercely.

"I didn't see _you_ moving out of the way, Weasley," Hermione retorted hotly, bending to gather her things. Harry stooped to help her, grabbing her ink pot to check if the lid was still tight.

"Er, you alright there, Hermione?"

"I'm fine," she huffed, eyeing her books to make certain they hadn't taken any permanent damage. She turned each one over in her small hands, checking the front and back covers, brushing them off with obvious annoyance.

"Sorry about that," said Harry, holding her satchel out for her.

She managed a small smile. "It wasn't your fault, Harry. Just an accident, is all. Oh!" she pointed to a paper poking out of his own bag, "Is that today's _Prophet_?"

"Yeah. I already read it this morning." He reached to grab it for her and suddenly gasped, his green eyes widening. "Hold on! Hermione, you said you saw me at Gringotts that day before term started, right?"

Hermione took the paper from him, frowning. "Yes. You were there with Hagrid."

"But that was the day Gringotts was broken into!" Harry exclaimed, oddly excited. "You didn't happen to see anything ... well, _off_, did you?"

" – probably robbed the bank, herself, is more likely," Weasley muttered.

Hermione scowled. "Very mature, Weasley. Any _other_ bright comments you'd like to make?"

Weasley's face reddened to the color of his hair.

She scanned over the headline thoughtfully, striving to ignore the ginger-haired boy muttering beside her. "I didn't notice anything unusual, Harry, but I was only ever in the main atrium. As soon as my dad set up my account, we left." She shrugged helplessly, locking and unlocking her lower lip with her teeth. "The most unusual thing I saw was likely Hagrid."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "You're sure? Well, I went with Hagrid back to one of the vaults. That article," he nodded toward the paper, "says the vault that was broken into was emptied earlier that day, and that nothing was stolen."

Hermione looked up at him. "Well, that's good, right?"

"Maybe," said Harry, adjusting the strap of his bag. "But Hagrid took something out of the vault, the very vault that got broken into – _seven hundred and thirteen_. Whoever broke in obviously wanted what Hagrid brought to Dumbledore."

Hermione blinked. "What was it?"

"I don't know. Something small. A little package wrapped in brown paper."

"Well, it has to be valuable," she said reasonably. "Maybe like some sort of jewel or diamond."

Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, maybe."

Hermione gave him a strange look. "How did you know Hagrid meant to give it to Professor Dumbledore?"

"He told me – though I don't think he meant to."

"Hmm," Hermione furrowed her brow. "Well, if the headmaster has it, then it has to be safe. No dark witch or wizard would be foolish enough to try to take it from _him_ – let alone at Hogwarts."

Harry kicked at a loose stone in the floor. "Yeah."

"But ... _if_ you come across something else," Hermione continued, taking in his sullen expression, "let me know. I'd be happy to research it with you."

His pale face brightened considerably. "Yeah, okay." He started to walk away and then seemed to remember something. He glanced over his shoulder. "See you this afternoon, I suppose. Looks like Slytherin and Gryffindor have flying lessons together."

Hermione instantly tensed, gripping her satchel so the leather pressed hard into her palms. "Er, yeah. I'll, uh, see you later, then."

Harry and Weasley disappeared around the corner.

Hermione's eyes dropped to her hands. She wasn't certain when they had started shaking. For a moment she felt as though she were floating above herself, watching her trembling hands from afar. Then she felt her blood pound loudly in her ears. And with a stricken sense of desolation weighing heavy in her chest, she headed down to the dungeons to drop off her things and to change.

* * *

In the Slytherin common room, Draco was so excited to make for to the quidditch pitch, he was practically bouncing off the furniture.

" – bloody ridiculous first years can't try out for the House teams."

" – was flying once with father; nearly ran into one of those muggle helicopters."

He smiled genuinely at Hermione as she emerged from the girl's dormitory, pulling at the green turtleneck they'd been instructed to wear.

"Hey, Hermione," he greeted her cheerfully. "Ready to head down to the pitch?"

"I guess," she mumbled. She glanced around the common room. "Where's Millie?"

"Already left," said Draco. "Come on, we don't want to be late." He grabbed her arm tightly and made for the portal hole.

For the second time that afternoon Hermione passed a moment of panic, and she searched frantically over her shoulder for any sign of Pansy. She didn't much fancy being on the receiving end of one of the girl's glares – _or_ fists.

Autumn had come without warning to Scotland. Aside from the chilly nights, the days had been warm and dry, and Hermione was slightly startled when she stepped onto the grounds with Draco, the crisp wind blowing her hair into a wild fury.

Painfully aware of the impending flying lesson like a sentence to the gallows, Hermione hugged herself and grudgingly set off across the grounds with Draco. He, however, didn't seem to mind the weather in the slightest and strutted ahead at a quickened pace. "Perfect weather for quidditch," he observed cheerfully, holding his palms up. "Have you ever been to a match, Hermione?"

She hesitated, rubbing her hands together. "Er ... no."

Draco stopped abruptly and looked her over with an unreadable expression on his pointed face. "Oh, right. I forgot about your – _muggles_."

Hermione groaned internally. She had only passed a mere two days at Hogwarts before the whole of Slytherin learned she had been raised by muggles, and that her birth parents were killed when she was a baby. She had sighed and sat back in a common room chair and rubbed her eyes, irritated by such blind prejudice. Most seemed absolutely horrified by the idea – had reacted as though she had been raised by serial killers or pedophiles.

Hermione's store of patience, never large, had been nearly exhausted as she calmly explained her 'adopted' parents were just like anyone else, save for the ability to perform magic. Draco, it seemed, was still skeptical.

As it was, she was growing weary of her House's ignorance.

"My mum and dad are just like everyone else," Hermione reiterated with a sigh, circumventing a large boulder as she followed the boy down a steep hill. "If you met them, you'd have no idea they were muggles until you asked them to perform a spell." The wind tugged and pulled at her hair. "They're no different from either of us."

"They're not your _real_ parents," Draco emphasized, almost as though he were trying to convince himself.

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, counting backwards from ten. "No. No, they're not. But they're the only parents I know, Draco. I love them."

The remainder of their journey was in awkward silence – Draco, likely reviewing every rumor he had ever heard about muggles, and Hermione, frustrated that a group of people could be so passionate in their hated over something they didn't even understand.

They came to the pitch through two huge pillars that supported the weight of the stands, the wind whipping the colored banners into motion. Hermione immediately spotted both Millie and Pansy, though the later was glaring at her viciously. Draco happily made his way over to her and Hermione wondered, vaguely, if Millie was right about their rumored engagement. Harry and Weasley were huddled close, whispering excitedly to one another and puffing warm air into cupped hands.

_Just relax. You can do this._

Poor Neville stood by himself, and Hermione thought the chubby, blond boy didn't appear to be much looking forward to having his feet off the ground, either.

Madam Hooch arrived a moment later, eyeing the group speculatively.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."*

With her head down, Hermione managed to find a broom next to Millie. She swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling as though she might be sick.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"*

"UP!" everyone shouted.*

Hermione's broom, to her everlasting relief, simply rolled over on the ground like an injured dog. Everyone else's seemed to have shot up into eagerly awaiting hands.

_Maybe ... maybe I won't have to fly after all._

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two – "*

Having simply picked the broom off the ground with her hands, Hermione nervously awaited the blow of the whistle that never came. She looked up, startled, and saw that Neville was rising rapidly into the clear sky.

"Neville!" she cried worriedly, when she saw his scared, white face. "Neville! OH!"

And just as quickly as Neville had begun floating skyward, the boy was suddenly off his broom and falling, faster and faster until – WHAM – he smacked straight into the ground. Hermione felt a blinding mental blackness of confusion and stood perfectly still, frozen to the grass. A second later, the adrenaline kicked in and her legs caught up with her brain; she sprinted alongside Madam Hooch to where Neville lay, unmoving.

"Neville!" she shrieked, overtaking her teacher. "Oh, Neville! Are you alright?"

"Out of the way, girl!" Madam Hooch cried, bodily pushing Hermione away from the scene.

Hermione, only just realizing she was still clutching a broom, threw it away from her with a look of utter abhorrence. She paced back and forth biting her nails – a habit she thought she had conquered years ago – until Madam Hooch declared, "Broken wrist. Come on, boy – it's all right, up you get."*

Her teacher turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'quidditch'. Come on, dear."*

As Neville hobbled away with Madam Hooch, Hermione managed to draw his gaze. "Feel better, Neville," she said quietly. "I'll come visit you if I can."

He nodded with a small smile, his tear-stained face showing gratitude. As soon as they were out of sight, however, Draco burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"*

"Draco!" Hermione admonished, rubbing her arms for warmth. "He could have been seriously hurt!"

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy. "Never thought you'd like fat little crybabies, Hermione."*

"Oh, honestly," Hermione puffed, her hands at her hips. "I don't _like_ him Pansy! Draco's just being rude."

But Draco didn't seem to have heard her. He was already darting across the grass. "Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."*

Hermione recognized the little object. Neville's Remembrall.

"Give that here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch.*

Draco smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find – how about – up a tree?"*

Harry was shouting at him and stooping to grab a broom; Draco kicked off with a smirk and soared effortlessly into the sky.

"No!" Hermione shouted at both of them. "Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all into trouble!"*

But neither boy seemed to have heard her. Harry kicked off hard and chased after Draco. They both shot off the pitch, around the stands, and soared back toward the class again. In her mind's eye Hermione saw them both crashing horribly to the ground, breaking every bone in their idiotic bodies. Entwining her hands nervously, she wondered if she were having a heart attack.

"What gives, Hermione?" Pansy sneered, stalking over to her. "Sticking up for some _Gryffindor?_"

It occurred to Hermione, irrelevantly, that Pansy's face closely resembled a pug-nosed dog. "It's wrong to pick on him, Pansy, _that's_ why. Imagine if it was you who were hurt and someone took your things!"

"Oi! Leave Hermione alone." Millie made her way into the crowd, her huge form looming over everyone gathered – the boys included. Pansy took one look at the girl and swallowed, taking a step backward.

Hermione was about to intervene when she heard Harry and Draco shouting from nearby – she whirled around to see Draco throwing the Remembrall, and Harry, without a moment's hesitation, took off diving after it.

The ball raced toward the ground and to Hermione's everlasting horror, Harry dove straight after it. He was falling too fast, the ball too close to the ground. Covering her ears and closing her eyes – too frighted to watch Harry mangle himself – Hermione screamed.

"HARRY POTTER!"*

Hermione's eyes snapped open, though her hands still covered her ears. Professor McGonagall's voice, apparently, could not be drowned out by mere, mortal hands. Miraculously, Harry wasn't a lump of unmoving body on the blowing grass – rather, he was standing astride his broom, holding Neville's Remembrall in one hand, and looking very nervous as the Gryffindor Head of House approached.

"_Never – _in all my time at Hogwarts – "*

The poor woman was practically speechless.

" – how _dare _you – might have broken your neck – "*

The Gryffindors all began protesting at once, but Professor McGonagall wouldn't have it, and hauled Harry off the field after her.

For a very long moment, everyone stood in silence.

"Well," said a girl called Pavarti, "I suppose we can clear out."

"Come on," said Millie. "Let's head for the common room. It's freezing out."

Hermione shook her head. "No, I – I think we should wait to be properly dismissed by Madam Hooch." She rubbed her arms vigorously as the wind kicked up. "I'll wait."

The students stacked their brooms into one pile and slowly headed off the pitch. Weasley gave her a particularly nasty glare as he joined up with Seamus, as though Harry getting in trouble had been her fault.

Millie gave her a pleading look. "Hermione, just come. I doubt Madam Hooch will – "

" – It's okay, Millie. Really. I don't mind. Go on ahead and I'll catch you up later."

Millie regarded her strangely for a moment and then shrugged her broad shoulders, following the other students off the pitch.

* * *

Madam Hooch did not return.

The high clouds of the early morning had gathered together, darkening and ominous. When she felt the first cool drops of rain speckle against her skin, Hermione sighed and stuffed her wand into her pocket, gathering three or four brooms and hauling them to the entrance of the quidditch locker rooms so they didn't get wet. She desperately wished in that moment that students were allowed to do magic outside the classrooms, as she was keen on attempting the hovering charm they were meant to study in her next Charms lesson.

As it was, it took six trips to get all the brooms out of the rain without the use of magic; her green turtleneck started clinging to her shoulders as the rain began to patter more regularly.

Hermione swiped at her damp hair, pushing it out of her face as she climbed the grounds toward the castle. Her breath steamed in the chill air; the temperature was dropping. The dark trees of the Forbidden Forest rustled in the wind. It wasn't until she reached the main gate, when she was soaked completely through, that she remembered with a sudden, sickening clarity Professor Snape had requested her presence in his office that afternoon to discuss the possibility of private lessons.

_Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no._

She broke into a run, slipping once on the wet grass, dirtying the knees of her trousers, and made like a mad person for the castle. Thunder cracked above her, loudly, as she flew through the main entrance, lost her balance on the dry flagstone, and then hurtled forward to the spiral stairs that descended into the dungeons. The darkness of the corridors was momentarily overwhelming, her pupils still struggling to adjust from being outside. She managed to not break her neck, thankfully, and skirted to a stop in front of her Head of House's office door. Her trembling left hand fumbled in her pocket for a watch as she banged with her right fist on the door.

"Enter."

It was frighteningly astonishing, in Hermione's opinion, how one word could be infused with such anger – _such annoyance! _For a brief moment, Hermione considered not entering the office at all; she could run, rather, toward the common room and hide.

It was a ridiculous idea, of course. She doubted anyone could hide from Professor Snape for long, no matter how badly they wanted to.

He was barricaded behind his desk, working by candlelight. In the absolute silence and stillness of the room, she could hear his quill scratching at the parchment in even, methodical strokes, flowing easily with a trained hand. He did not look up.

"You will approach my desk, Miss Granger."

Hermione swallowed and walked toward him slowly, her wet socks sloshing uncomfortably with each step.

"Sir?"

He still was writing, his long, black hair framing his face and making everything obscure but for his large, hooked nose.

"Have a seat, Miss Granger," he said brusquely.

She did, and it was several moments before he spoke again. "I was unaware, Miss Granger, there were ambiguities with the Slytherin House rules – _especially _those which stressed punctuality."

Hermione fidgeted on the hard chair. "Er, no, sir. They aren't ambiguous. Only – "

" – Then you chose to deliberately disobey them."

She sat quietly, wondering at it all. His ink-stained fingers kept the parchment steady while his writing hand moved like an artist's. What could she say to him, to make him understand she had been trying to obey school rules all along? That the class had left without Madam Hooch dismissing them?

"Sir, I – "

"Detention, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said darkly, "tomorrow night at eight o'clock. I trust you will choose to arrive on time to – "

He had chosen that moment to quit his letter, placing his quill meticulously in its little case, and looked up at her. His black eyes, for once, appeared startled.

"Miss Granger, you are ... soaked." He stood from his desk and came around and hovered over her. "Explain yourself."

She took a deep breath. Everything came out in a frantic rush.

"I had flying lessons this afternoon and Neville Longbottom – you know him, sir, the Gryffindor boy who had to go to the hospital wing our first lesson? Well, he took off accidentally on his broom and crashed! We all ran over and Madam Hooch said it was all right – that he only had a broken arm. I always thought broken bones were rather serious, but she didn't seem too worried, and took him away to the hospital wing. She told us to stay where we were – to not get on the brooms – but the moment she left ... "

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes?"

She hesitated. If she divulged the full story, Draco would likely get in trouble for disobeying Madam Hooch's orders. Harry, however, was already in trouble with McGonagall, and would almost certainly tell her exactly what transpired on the pitch. _And_ with the professor's timely arrival, Hermione suspected the Gryffindor Head of House already saw the entire altercation.

She sighed. "Draco ... found a Remembrall that belonged to Neville. He took it and flew on his broom to put it up a tree and Harry chased after him. Professor McGongall must have seen the entire thing; she yelled at Harry a moment later and made him follow her into the castle."

"While a _fascinating _tale, Miss Granger," he said irritably, folding his arms across his chest, "it explains nothing as to why you are dripping water carelessly all over my office floor."

Hermione blushed. "Oh. Well," she looked to her hands. "Everyone just – "

"Look at me when you speak, Miss Granger."

She forced herself to meet his eyes. "Everyone left," she said quietly, shifting under his gaze. "Madam Hooch never told us we were dismissed, so I stayed. I didn't want to get in trouble."

He kept silent, watching her, waiting for her to continue.

" ... And then it started raining. I was worried the brooms might get ruined, so I carried them over to the locker rooms. It wasn't until ... until I brought over the last batch and was heading back to the castle that I realized I would be late for our meeting." She bit her lower lip. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to be tardy."

He watched her carefully. A moment later he said quietly, dangerously, "That was foolish in the extreme."

She looked up at him. "Sir?"

"Look at yourself, Miss Granger!" he drew himself up angrily. "_Alone_ on the school grounds, in the freezing rain, no less?" He gestured to her roughly, stepping so close that she shied away. "You think Madam Hooch values her instructions over _your life_?"

She paled. "Sir, I don't – "

But he had already dropped to a crouch so that they were eye level. For one wild, absurd moment, Hermione thought he might strike her. But he leaned forward and pressed his hand carefully against her forehead, first with his palm, and then with the rougher backside. She jumped slightly when his hand touched her skin, startled.

"You do not appear to have a fever," he said, a small amount of relief evident in his voice. He pressed the backside of his fingers against both her cheeks, just to be certain, prying the wet pieces of hair off her face as he did so.

Hermione dared a nervous glance at him in their close proximity. His eyes, which she previously assumed to be black, were the darkest brown she had ever seen. The barrier between pupil and iris was almost indistinct. And Professor Snape's hair, which every Gryffindor had dubbed as greasy, did not stink as they so often jested. Rather, it smelled of spices – of pine.

He caught her staring at him and moved away, straightening to his full height. Skillfully, he brandished his ebony wand and pointed it at her chest.

"This will feel strange at first," he warned.

Though he did not speak the incantation, Hermione knew the spell had been cast. Instantly, she felt the water droplets melt and flick away, leaving her skin completely dry, like water rolling off a bird's feathers. Her turtleneck and trousers, her shoes – _everything_ was as though she had just pulled her clothing directly from the dryer. She brushed at her forearms experimentally, checking for the dampness that simply was not there.

In the next instant, she felt a tingling warmth that began at the ends of her toes and spread slowly to the top of her head, warming her completely.

"Better?" he asked, in a low, steady, tone. He lowered his wand.

She nodded timidly. "Yes, thank you."

Watching him look down at her, Hermione had the sudden, strange conviction that he knew what she was thinking.

_Ridiculous, Hermione._

He cleared his throat once, and returned to his desk. "I had _hoped,_" he emphasized, sitting fully erect in his chair, "to discuss the possibility of private lessons with you this afternoon, Miss Granger." He regarded her darkly. "If you feel you are above the rules of your House, however, I can most readily assure you the invitation will be withdrawn."

He waited until she shook her head. "I can follow the rules, sir. I ... I won't disappoint you again."

There was a cold, grimness about him. He inclined his head. "Very well. It is my duty to inform you then, that the headmaster has agreed to these lessons on the condition you will not fall behind in your regular coursework – _no matter the subject_ – and that you will adhere strictly to the rules set forth by this school and myself as your Head of House." He smirked unpleasantly. "Disregarding the past hour, I assume you wish to continue forward."

She blinked. "Yes, sir. I would like that very much."

"We will begin next week." It was not a question. "It will give you some time to settle into your classes and to determine if, indeed, you feel up to the task." He reached for his black-feathered quill and dipped it carefully into a silver and green ink pot. "I will see you tomorrow evening, Miss Granger, here in my office for your detention. You may leave."

She nodded and stood, pushing the straight-backed chair across the stone floor just slightly. "Er, thank you, sir, for – for everything."

He did not look up. "Good evening, Miss Granger."

* * *

"I think I may vomit."

It was dinnertime, and Hermione looked across the Slytherin table to Draco, who was being consoled by a very anxious Pansy.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Hermione put down her fork and asked, "What's the matter?"

Pansy glared, though Draco didn't bother to look up from his food, only continuing to push his mashed potatoes around disinterestedly. "_Potter's_ made his House team," he huffed with annoyance. "Bloody _Dumbledore_ has had it in the rules for centuries that first years can't make their House teams, but along comes _Saint Potter_ and WHAM!" He pounded the table with his fist. "Oh, ho! Let's throw him onto the team and give him a broom!" His pale face appeared to be in anguish. "He didn't even get in trouble from McGonagall!"

"You should feel lucky _you_ didn't end up getting in trouble, Draco," Hermione pointed out, "Harry could have tattled on you, but for whatever reason, he didn't – or McGonagall let it slide, though I doubt _that's_ likely. She's as strict as they come." But when she saw him bury his face into his arms on the table, she added as kindly as she could, "You've still got six years to play. I'm sure you'll make the team next year."

"I don't _want_ to play next year," he muttered from the crevices of his elbows. "I want to play _this _year."

Pansy patted Draco's back in sympathy, and Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes.

The rest of dinner passed rather uneventfully. Hermione told Millie she had been allowed to take private lessons with Professor Snape, and the large girl congratulated her cheerfully. "That's brilliant, Hermione. You'll be ages ahead of everyone in class – we'll beat Gryffindor for sure!"

Hermione chuckled with her friend until she noticed Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle heading over to the Gryffindor table.

"Oh, no," she muttered, making to stand.

"What is it?" Millie asked, following Hermione's gaze.

"Draco. He's over to see Harry. He better not start a fight or we'll lose all those points you and I got in Herbology!" She swung her legs off the bench and started over to them. "I'm going to stop him before he does anything stupid."

By the time she managed to reach the Gryffindor table, Hermione could tell whatever conversation Draco was having with Harry and Weasley was over.

"Midnight, all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."*

He turned around and nearly bumped into her.

"Midnight?" Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "Are you _trying_ to lose points for Slytherin?"

Draco frowned. "Relax. Potter and I have some unfinished business. I won't get caught."

Hermione laughed ruefully. "With Crabbe and Goyle tailing after you? Yes, you'd be _easily_ missed," she said with as much sarcasm as her little eleven-year-old self allowed.

"Drop it, Hermione," said Draco, steering her back to the Slytherin table. "Snape's looking at us. You're making it obvious."

"Well," snapped Hermione, "I wouldn't have to if you'd just follow the rules!"

"It's none of your business," Draco said.

"Good-bye," said Crabbe.

Shockingly, that was the first word the boy had ever said to her.

* * *

Hermione was waiting silently in the pitch-black of the Slytherin common room at half-past eleven. She was in her bathrobe, arms crossed tightly across her chest, with her wand in one hand.

Just as she suspected, she heard the door to the boy's dormitories open. Draco and Crabbe were whisperingly loudly to one another.

_Oh, please. And he thinks he _won't_ get caught._

Under her breath, Hermione lighted her wand. Privately, she was pleased the spell worked; she had only ever studied the theory.

"_You!_" said Crabbe, pointing at her with a massive finger. "Go back to bed!"

"I will not," said Hermione firmly. "You'll both get caught. You're as loud as elephants!"

"We're not even out of the common room, Hermione," said Draco with annoyance. "We'll be quiet out there."

"Think of the points you'll lose Slytherin! Mr Filch and his cat patrol the corridors after dark – they're just _waiting _to catch someone where they're not supposed to be. Besides, Professor Snape has specifically said – "

"Yeah, yeah, Hermione," said Draco dismissively. "I've got to duel Potter, all right?"

Hermione looked at him in shock. "And you don't think the headmaster or someone else will find out?" she laughed raggedly. "You're thicker than I thought!"

"Watch it, Hermione!" Crabbe said loudly.

"Shut up! Both of you!" Draco hissed. "Look, we're going, Hermione, and there's nothing you can do to stop us. Just go back to bed."

She followed them across the common room, hissing at them like an angry goose. If it hadn't been for her wandlight, the two idiots would have tripped over everything in their path.

" – you're being completely selfish! Only thinking about yourselves!"

"Go away," said Crabbe.

"Fine, but don't either of you dare blame me when you're both on the train heading home tomorrow."

She turned to go to bed, as angry as she'd ever been, when she realized, with a start, that she'd followed both Draco and Crabbe out of the portal hole.

She crossed her arms across her chest and muttered the password.

Nothing happened.

"Did the password change?" she asked frantically, grabbing Draco's robe and pulling him to a stop.

"No," he said, frowning. "But if you're coming, hush up, will you?"

"Oh, Merlin," she muttered to herself, when the sick realization hit her. "Professor Snape has probably warded the common room portal so it won't open after nine! That way he'll know who's disobeyed the rules!" She was scurrying after them, hissing shrilly. "Don't you understand? I already broke one rule today and I told Professor Snape that I could be responsible! He'd agreed to give me private lessons! And now because of you two I'll be in such trouble – "

"Hermione!" Draco hissed. "Shut it!"

"I'm coming with you."

"You're not," said Crabbe.

"Yes, _I am_! If Professor Snape or Mr Filch find us, I'm telling them exactly what happened – that I tried to stop you both, and that you wouldn't listen."

"Some nerve!" muttered Crabbe.

"Be quiet!" Draco urged, "I think I heard something."

Hermione crossed her arms and padded after them. "That'd be Mrs Norris, Filch's cat. She'll find us before you can say – "

But Draco put his hand over Hermione's mouth. "One more word out of you, Hermione, and I'll tell Snape, himself, that this was your idea. Got it?"

She nodded against him, completely enraged. When Draco let go of her, however, she trailed after them in vengeful silence.

They flittered along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Hermione expected to run into Filch or Mrs Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.*

Harry and Weasley weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room.*

"He's late," said Crabbe. "Maybe he chickened out."

"Maybe," said Draco, though he clutched his wand tightly.

"Maybe he has some shred of intelligence," Hermione supplied, leaning against a wall with obvious annoyance. " ... and doesn't want to lose his House a thousand points."

Crabbe whirled around and glared at her, just as a door opened on the far end of the room, revealing Harry and Weasley, both adorned in bathrobes.

"Potter," smirked Draco. "You ready?"

"You bet," said Harry evenly, walking confidently into the room.

But before Hermione had time to jump between the boys, she heard someone speak.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."*

Hermione's eyes widened. _"Filch!"_ she mouthed to everyone in the room.

Draco and Crabbe sped past her, dashing for the nearest exit. Harry was waving madly at both Weasley and Hermione and she scurried along after the group, away from Filch's voice.

"This way!" Harry mouthed to them, and petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor.*

But someone clashed into the armor, and brought it clamoring to the ground in the otherwise silent space. The impact was like a canon shot.

"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the group sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following – they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going – they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near the Charms classroom.*

"I think we lost him," Harry panted.*

"Where," Hermione gasped, doubling over and resting her hands on her thighs. "Where are Draco and Crabbe?"

"Who cares?" panted Weasley. "Maybe Filch caught them. It'll slow him down, at least, so we can get back to the common room."

"Nice, Weasley," snapped Hermione. "Real nice."

"Oi, shut it, you two!" Harry hissed. "You'll wake the entire castle!"

"Oh," said Hermione sarcastically. "As if we haven't done that already. Were you the graceful one that tripped over the armor, Weasley?"

"Thought it was you, Granger," Weasley retorted.

A _meow_ sounded from the other end of the corridor and Hermione realized, with a kick in her chest, that Filch had found them. She ran for the end of the corridor, following Weasley and Harry, until they slammed into a door.

"It's locked!" moaned Weasley. "We're done for!"

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed her wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, "_Alohomora!"*_

The lock clicked and the door swung open – they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.*

Hermione heard Filch muttering to his cat beyond the door, though his raspy voice was somewhat muffled. She put her hand over her mouth, to muffle her own breathing, which sounded loud and frantic to her ears. After some time it was clear that Filch assumed the door was locked, and his voice trailed off as he moved back the way he had come.

"Well," said Harry, after a long moment. "That was close."

"Um, Harry," Weasley muttered, his normally loud voice quiet and small.

"What?"

Hermione turned to look at Weasley, and when she saw his face twisted up in fear, she turned from the door to see where he was looking.

For a moment, she was certain she had walked into a nightmare. They weren't in a room. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor – the one Professor Dumbledore had said was off limits.* And now Hermione was sure she knew the reason why.

She was staring into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.*

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Hermione knew the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.*

Hermione groped for the doorknob, pushing the door open and flying out into the exterior corridor. Harry slammed the door shut behind them and they sprinted through the corridor, away from the dog–creature. Filch was nowhere to be found, but after what she had just seen, Hermione would have happily thrown herself into Filch's arms to be carted off for whatever punishment he could dream up.

When they reached the marble staircase, Hemione hurtled downwards as Weasley and Harry climbed, no one saying anything in parting.

_What on earth can Dumbledore be thinking? Keeping something like _that _in a school?_

She pushed her legs hard and continued to descend, dashing through the Entrance Hall, and then downward again on spiral stairs that descended into the dungeons. She knew the journey to the Slytherin common room by heart now, and she darted around this corridor and that, the flames of the wall torches licking higher as she passed. As she rounded the final bend, she realized she had forgotten the portal was sealed, and stopped short, gasping for breath.

"Hermione?"

Draco's voice echoed at the end of the hallway and Hermione leaned forward, uneasily.

"Hermione? Is that you?"

Draco was standing at the portal hole, holding it open.

"Draco? How ... "

He motioned her forward, ushering her through the entryway.

"Did Filch catch you?" he asked, the moment the portal closed.

She shook her head, still struggling to catch her breath. _No, but you'd be surprised what almost did._

"How did you get the portal open?"

He smirked. "Crabbe and I ran off, not really looking or caring where we were going – so long as it was away from Filch. By the time we stopped to check behind us, you weren't anywhere to be found. We both made for the dungeons and tried the portal hole again." He paused, slightly reluctant. "You were right; Snape warded it to lock after nine." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "So, Crabbe and I went to Snape's office – just so you know, we both have detentions for the rest of the month for deliberately disobeying the Slytherin rules – and after Snape opened the portal for us, I waited and held it open, knowing you'd be coming back eventually."

Hermione stared at him.

She wasn't certain whether she should slap him for leaving her and trying to save his own skin, or hug him for being thoughtful enough to keep the portal open so Professor Snape wouldn't know that she, too, had been out, violating yet another Slytherin rule.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and settled, instead, on simply saying, "Thanks, Draco."

He smiled. "Sure."

_Though_, she thought privately, _Draco was the reason I was out of the common room in the first place._

She shrugged mentally, wanting nothing more than crawl into her bed and get some much needed sleep. Her dreams that night, however, were riddled with huge dogs with many heads and massive teeth.

* * *

The instant Hermione stood to leave the Slytherin table at breakfast the following morning, Harry Potter was behind her, whispering in her ear.

"I need to talk to you."

She nodded, told Millie she'd meet her later, and followed Harry through the double doors.

He looked tired but cheerful, which was probably not too different from her own appearance.

"What's up, Harry?" she asked, leaning against a side wall. "Fancy another late night adventure?"

"Funny," said Harry. Weasley came through the doors and glanced over at her, keeping his distance. "Look, I think I figured something out last night."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"Remember the package I was telling you about? The one that would have been stolen from Gringotts if Hagrid hadn't taken it?"

"Yes, I remember."

"I think that ... that _thing _is meant to guard it."

Hermione frowned. "How do you know?"

"Did you see what it was standing on?"

"No, Harry, I wasn't looking at its feet, I was slightly more concerned with its heads – and _teeth_."

He rolled his eyes. "It was a trapdoor in the ground, Hermione. Hagrid told me that Gringotts was the safest place in the world to hide something, except Hogwarts. I'd bet anything that monster is guarding the package Hagrid took."

Hermione worked on her lower lip, rolling Harry's words around in her mind. "It certainly makes sense. I can't imagine why on earth the teachers would have that monster in the school if not for a very important reason. Really, I don't think it can be legal."

"Whatever the package is, it's likely very valuable or really dangerous."

"Or both," Hermione agreed. "Perhaps I should ask Professor Snape – "

"NO!" Harry cried, his green eyes flashing. "You can't say a thing, Hermione – _especially_ not to Snape. I don't trust him."

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione said with exasperation. "He's a Hogwarts professor!"

He shook his head. "I don't care. You can't tell him, Hermione. Promise me you won't."

She frowned, but Harry appeared adamant. "All right, Harry. As long as it's not hurting anything or anyone, I won't say a word."

"Good."

"Harry!" Weasley called impatiently from the doors. "Come on, then."

Harry nodded over his shoulder. "See you in class. Hopefully we'll be able to stay awake." He smiled at her and jogged after Weasley.

Hermione grinned half-heartedly at him, her thoughts still occupied by the giant dog on the third floor. How had no one heard it? Was there some kind of silencing charm in the corridor? She shuddered – _what_, exactly, did it eat? With all these thoughts pressing on her, as well as her homework from yesterday's lessons and her detention that night with Professor Snape, she tucked her hair behind her ear, and headed for the dungeons.

* * *

_A/N: So, I thought I'd be able to update a little more quickly – sorry about that. I ended up going to Vegas for the weekend to watch a football game. (Don't get too excited, folks. I don't drink or smoke or really gamble, so it wasn't THAT exciting of a weekend. I'm simply a gal who enjoys football.) ;) Reviewers – I can't tell you how much I love and adore you. It motivates me like you wouldn't believe when I see that little inbox notice saying I have a review alert. Ah, the little things in life, eh?_

_Another item I'd like to address: I've had a few people wondering if Hermione will ever get out of Hogwarts. The answer is yes, she will. But as I mentioned in the first chapter, this will be a novel-length fic, so it's going to take a bit of time before we get to that point. I don't intend on covering EVERY little detail in the series, but all the major events that effect canon and Hermione will be included. That being said, it'll be awhile before we get to the physical aspects of Hermione and Snape's relationship. While there may be little moments here and there while Hermione is a student, they won't be sleeping together – at least while he's her professor. Sorry to disappoint, but I hope that clears up any confusion._

_I always love to hear what you think. Also, if my grammar is atrocious, I beg your forgiveness. After proof-reading a chapter for the seventh time, everything seems to roll blindly together. If anyone knows of a qualified beta that would like to invest themselves in a bit of a project, let me know._

_- Liz_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**

* * *

  
**

Perhaps it was because she was now so busy, what with her private lessons in Potions and struggling to staying on top of the rest of her coursework – _not_ to mention the effort it took to keep both Harry and Draco away from one another, but Hermione could hardly believe it when she realized she had been at Hogwarts nearly two months.

Her birthday had come and gone quickly; Millie had given her a helpful organizing calendar and her parents had sent more muggle clothes than she knew what to do with. She had taken a genuine liking to most all her classes, though she undoubtedly favored Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration. Surprisingly, though, her private lessons with Professor Snape had quickly become the brightest spot of each week.

How to explain it, to pinpoint it, she wasn't sure.

Oh, he was stern and short with her, certainly. He would watch her little hands work as they pounded the mortar and pestle, cut ingredients, and leaned over her cauldron, grave and silent as ever. It unnerved her when he hovered so, his mass and height filling up the space around her as she worked, his jet-black hair and dark eyes in shadow beneath it.

"No," he would correct her harshly, leaning over her work. "You have cut your flobberworm too thick, Miss Granger. Did you not read chapter five of _Magical Drafts and Potions_?"

She would sigh heavily. "I know it's_ supposed _to be as thin as possible, but it keeps slipping in my hands. I can't grasp it properly to make an even cut unless I make it thicker."

And he would take her knife and a worm from an old, cracked dish. "Watch carefully. I will show you."

His hands were fascinating. They worked and moved like an artist with a paintbrush, a sculptor with a chisel. His work was flawless, effortless. And Hermione would nod when he handed the knife back to her, feeling vaguely embarrassed her own work was so sloppy in comparison.

She cut flobberworms until her hands ached from gripping the knife handle, though the results seemed to improve – albeit slowly. She doubted she would ever obtain the mastery Professor Snape possessed, but he had nodded at her finished product with a dry gleam in his dark eyes, likely the equivalent of approval from any other man.

On Halloween morning, Hermione woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting into the dungeons. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they'd all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Neville's toad zoom around the classroom.*

Hermione's sudden excitement was short lived, however, when she saw she was to be partnered with Weasley. He, too, didn't appear thrilled by the prospect.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."*

Weasley drew his chestnut wand and cleared his throat. "Well, I'll go first, then. Can't be _that _hard."

And then he proceeded to wave his arms around like a windmill. "_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

"Watch it!" Hermione snapped, ducking to avoid a blow to the face. "You'll take someone's eye out!"

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

"You're saying it wrong. It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_o_-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."*

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.*

Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her gown, flicked her wand, and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"*

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.*

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"*

"Ugh," Weasley muttered under his breath, as he watched the feather. "_Typical_."

Hermione managed to make the feather levitate each time she cast the charm, pushing it higher and higher – trying to get it to navigate around the room with slight movements of her wrist.

"Show off," Weasley grumbled as he watched her, sulking back in his chair.

"If you just pronounced it correctly," Hermione huffed, lowering the feather to their table, "you'd be able to do it. Your wrist movements are fine; you're saying it wrong."

"Yeah, well, sorry we don't all speak perfect _Latin_."

_If you'd just read the pronunciation guide in the text_, Hermione thought privately, _you wouldn't look like a daft oaf._

Once class had finished, Hermione cleared her things up quickly, stowing her wand away in her robes and heaving her heavy satchel over her shoulder. She was just pushing through the crowded corridor to hurry off to her next class when she heard Weasley complaining to Harry.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."*

Hermione started.

She was _definitely _not going to cry. She kept her eyes on the ground.

And Harry didn't contradict him.

She concentrated hard on keeping her lip stiff, but she felt one hot tear gather at the corner of her eye, and pushed hurriedly through the crowd so no one would see her.

She didn't hear the boys behind her as she made for the bathroom.

"I think she heard you."*

"So? She must've noticed she's got no friends."*

* * *

The weight of the world was falling away like water.

Hermione's cheeks burned. She was breathing a little raggedly, too embarrassed to look at her face in the bathroom mirror again, too ashamed to take in her tear-stained, pathetic appearance. With a great heave, she tossed her satchel against the far wall of the bathroom and sat down on it, ignoring the tight, devastating ache she felt in her chest.

_Why are you letting it bother you so much? Weasley's always been a git._

But it was more than that, really.

Weasley's accusation had cut her deeply, in the most tender area of her little soul. She had always known she would never be the pretty, popular girl – the girl others looked to for friendship, for an example. No, she had come to terms with that long ago. But despite the boy's rudeness, he _had_ been right. And that's what hurt the most.

No one could stand her.

Muggles, magical kids her age – it didn't matter. She didn't have any friends.

_Millie likes you_, a voice in her head reminded her. _She's your friend._

Hermione sighed deeply, rubbing her eyes. _Yeah, she's the _only_ one. And she'll probably get sick of me after awhile, just like the rest._

Several long moments passed as she sat miserably on her satchel – the corner of one of her texts digging painfully into her hip – when she thought she had finally managed to compose herself enough to go to her next class. And then she realized, with some trepidation, she was sobbing aloud. Tucking her legs in on herself, she cried, sucking in deep gasps until she didn't think she could cry anymore.

* * *

The Dark Mark itched.

Severus ignored it, refused to touch it. The Dark Lord was vanquished – though it scarcely mattered. He didn't dare give in, didn't dare do anything that might trigger – _something._

He sighed, ensconced in his private quarters, running a hand through his long hair. The day had begun grey, still, and silent – though it could have been a howling blizzard and he wouldn't have known or cared.

_Halloween._

_Oh ... Lily._

Feeling as though he had just received a punch in the stomach, afraid he might literally vomit, Severus wished he were dead in that moment. A decade ago she had been killed. And he may as well have been the one that cast the Unforgivable at her.

Involuntarily, as he had so many times, he imagined her on that night, frightened and afraid – alone.

Severus closed his eyes. He felt weak.

Potter had been killed first – or so he had been told. What had gone through Lily's mind as she ran to save her son? Did she wonder, did she _hope_ that he could come and save her? Save the child? Did she curse him in her final moments or did she know that he loved her still, that he knew he had done wrong all those years before when he called her the unthinkable?

Severus' heart pounded with the terror of things named and nameless the Dark Lord could have done to her that night. Her precious, fragile body hadn't shown any signs of physical trauma, though there were worse things, Severus knew, than barbaric slicing hexes.

His vision swam with bitter fury. His knuckles clenched.

No telling in the afterlife if Lily was aware of him. No telling if she knew he still loved her, that he had vowed to protect her son with his very life. There was no telling if she had ever thought of him, of what might have been, if he hadn't gone and destroyed everything.

He gave himself thirty seconds to ponder it, and nothing more.

He sat back, alone and miserable, resting his head on one hand, when the Floo in his mantle flared to life.

"Severus."

Severus did not look up.

"What is it, Albus?" he sighed, inexplicably annoyed. "Has Potter done something _remarkable_ I'm to be aware of?" Oddly, his fingers itched for a brandy.

He heard the old man brush the soot and residue of the Floo powder off his robes, and then his light steps crossing the flagstone.

"What, exactly, are you doing, Severus?" Albus asked, picking out a sofa's armrest and leaning against it.

"What does it look like?" Severus spat, his dark eyes flashing up to meet his mentor's soft gaze.

"Sulking," Albus said simply. "Though it will do you little good, my boy."

"I am _not_ your_ boy_," Severus ground out, ignoring the twinge on his left forearm.

"Yes, of course," said Albus, looking thoughtful. "Though I wish you'd stop being so hard on yourself, Severus."

Severus ignored him, instead, choosing to count the knots of the oak wood of his desk. _You know nothing, Albus. Nothing._

The Headmaster moved from his post at the armrest and paced quietly in front of the fireplace. "Severus," he said finally, softly, "I must ask you not to go to Godric's Hollow this year."

Severus' head snapped up like a whip. "_What?_" he bit out.

Albus sighed sadly, turning to face the Potion's master. "This dwelling, this guilt, Severus," he spread his hands out helplessly, "it's destroying you. And I care far too much for you to allow that to happen."

"You go too far, old man," Severus growled, focusing on keeping his voice steady. "You know _nothing _of which you speak. Now, g_et out._"

"Calm yourself, Severus."

"You cannot, you _will not_ use Lily to manipulate me, Albus!" He rose to his feet.

The Headmaster, however, held his ground.

Severus' chest heaved in rage. How dare he bring up Lily in his presence! How _dare_ he! Albus, alone, knew the anguish, the guilt that pained him – that nearly crippled him with every thought and action.

"Have you come here to gloat, Albus? Is that it? To rub the very thing in my face which pains me most?" His voice was harsh, tormented. "You would _deny_ me to go to her grave on the anniversary of her death?" He twisted his fingers into his hair, digging into his scalp. "You, who knows all, would deny me this?"

After a long moment, the torch wall flames crackling and licking at the sides of the stone, Severus whispered, "I – I wish I were dead."

"No, Severus," the Headmaster shook his head. "You still have a promise to fulfill."

"And how could I forget it?" he snapped angrily. "You remind me in your every glance!"

Albus sighed softly. "Harry is a good boy. I trust you to protect him."

"Albus, I – I am not fit for life. _Please_." He was mildly startled by the plea in his voice. "Relinquish me from my vow so that I may end this."

"Cease this foolishness," the Headmaster said sternly. "You know of your vow and I will hold you to it. If you ever truly loved Lily, you _will _help me protect Harry." His blue eyes were piercing. "You gave me your word."

Severus was silent. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"Severus," said Albus. "It may seem insensitive, but I forbid it." His face was infinitely sorrowful. "You must trust me on this."

"Trust you?" Severus roared, his face twisted up in agony. "I have done _everything_ you have asked of me without question!"

"And you will do this," Albus said softly. "I am sorry, Severus."

He wanted to shout, to yell, to curse anything and everything in sight. Instead, after a long moment, after his breathing had calmed some, he said very quietly, hating himself more than ever, "I bow to your authority, Headmaster."

Albus frowned deeply. He walked over to the younger man and rested a withered, veined hand on Severus' shoulder, patting it gently. Severus twitched slightly, but was otherwise still.

With a handful of Floo powder, Albus said softly, sadly, "I hope you understand how much I love you, my boy." And he threw the powder at his feet and disappeared into a glory of green flames.

* * *

It was a long time before she heard it – a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet.

Hermione lifted her chin from her knees, looking around the bathroom with forced curiously. _What in the world?_

There was a chilling silence and then, like an explosion, the door to the bathroom doubled over and shrieked out of its floor tracks. Hermione instantly leapt to her feet. The door twisted horribly around its last upper corner still lodged in place, hit the ceiling with another clang, and dropped to the floor.

Hermione screamed.

_What in the –_

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.*

_A ... a mountain troll?_

She screamed again, staring at the creature in a moment of utter, dawning horror.

The scream was an obvious mistake; the troll turned and took notice of her, lumbering forward slowly with a low growl.

_My wand! Where's my wand!_

She fumbled in her robes, her sweaty fingers not able to grip much of anything, though she wondered, vaguely, what spell she could perform on the monster, as Quirrell had only taught them to shoot sparks from their wands.

The troll advanced, knocking sinks off the wall with swipes of its club as though they were nothing more than obnoxious flies. Rubble from the wall tumbled to the floor. The troll swung again and cut out a huge hole in the wall just above her. And as the dust clouds cleared, coughing into the stone and rubble, Hermione saw, weirdly, both Harry and Weasley bolt into the bathroom from _behind_ the troll.

"Harry!" she screamed frantically. "Help!"

But the troll swung again. Hermione stumbled to her right to avoid the blow, but the wooden club smashed into the wall and came about again, knocking her off her feet. She staggered to the side, crashing into the ground. Pieces of the wall rained down on top of her.

"Confuse it!"* Harry – or Weasley said – Hermione wasn't certain, she had hit the ground at an unexpected angle and was unsure which way was up.

"Oy, pea-brain!"* – that would be Weasley, "over here, you big lump!"

She tried to get to her hands and knees, but gravity pulled her the wrong way and she slumped to the ground again. There was blood on her arm.

"Come on, run, _run_!"* Harry was yelling at her. "Please, Hermione!"

_I'm trying!_ she wanted to yell, but the dust cloud hadn't cleared, and she coughed roughly into her sleeve. She heard Harry and Weasley shouting at one another and at the troll, heard the pounding of the troll's heavy footsteps as he turned from her to where the boys stood. But it wasn't until she heard Weasley shout the spell that she became instantly coherent.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_"*

Her heart leapt. _He said it right! He said it right!_

And she peered up from her sleeve in time to see the troll's wooden club fly from its hand, rise high into the air, and drop – with a sickening crack – onto its owner's head. Harry, she realized with a start, was hanging off the troll's back. The creature swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.*

"Hermione," said Harry shakily after a long moment. "Are you all right?"

Hermione sincerely tried to focus, to ignore the pounding of her blood in her ears, and sluggishly – it happened. The images of two boys swam around in front of her and then grew clear. She wanted to skip across the room and throw her arms around both their necks, such was her gratitude. Her wobbly legs, however, protested as she took a tentative step forward.

"Is it – dead?"*

"I don't think so," said Harry. "I think it's just been knocked out."*

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.*

Professor Snape gave Hermione a swift, piercing looking. _Anger or concern? Or – both? _He bent over the troll.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with a cold fury in her voice. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"*

Inwardly, Hermione cringed. Of course she hadn't known to go to the Slytherin common room – she had been in the bathroom all afternoon. But she couldn't let Harry and Weasley take the blame, either. They had, after all, just saved her life. Professor Snape's face kept changing from angry to murderous and back again, and she wondered if he'd cancel her private lessons immediately – or at the very least, let her see the week through before he kicked her out.

"Please, Professor McGonagall – they were looking for me."*

Professor Snape's dark eyes hadn't moved from her – it felt as though they were peeling through her skin and flesh, tracing her bones and muscles, looking for harm.

"I went looking for the troll because I – I thought I could deal with it on my own – you know, because I've read all about them. If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Weas – er, _Ron_ knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."*

"Well – in that case ... " said Professor McGonagall. "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"*

Professor Snape was _still_ glaring at her.

"Five points will be taken from Slytherin for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better head to the Slytherin common room. Students are finishing the feast with their Houses."*

Hermione hung her head and limped forward. Professor Snape's eyes traced her every movement.

"Follow me, Miss Granger," he said evenly, darkly.

She hobbled after him, ignoring the twinge in her left leg as she navigated around the huge pieces of rubble and stone that littered the entrance of the bathroom. The moment they were alone in the corridor, however, he whirled around and pulled her to him.

"You are injured," he said gruffly, his eyes following the little blood trail down her forearm.

Hermione winced as she looked at it. "It's not ... too bad, I don't think. I'm sure that – "

" – Do _not_ be foolish!" he snapped. "You think me to be blind?" he almost snorted. "I can most readily assure you, Miss Granger, I am not. To pretend you are not injured when you so obviously are, like some dunderheaded _Gryffindor_, is beneath you."

"But, sir – "

"Madam Pomfrey is currently elsewhere at present," Professor Snape cut in sharply, straightening to his full height. "_No doubt_ she assumed this school's students were less idiotic than you just proved." He looked down at her without blinking. "Come, Miss Granger. I will tend to your injuries myself, after which, you have some explaining to do."

* * *

They stopped halfway down a cold corridor Hermione had never been down before.

"Sir?" she looked around curiously. "Where are we?"

Professor Snape smirked unpleasantly. "My private quarters, Miss Granger."

He watched the uncomfortable comprehension of it seep into her face. He sneered derisively. "Perhaps you will think twice before attempting something so utterly foolish as fighting a mountain troll when you can hardly wield a wand." He drew his own wand and turned toward an elaborate tapestry that depicted the Forbidden Forest and Black Lake; he pressed the tip of his wand to the heart of the lake, murmuring softly. "As it is," he said flatly, "you have left me little choice; I keep medicinal potions and a first aid kit in my private laboratory."

He stood back as the tapestry split down the center with a horrible _rip _and the wall behind folded in on itself. He gestured her forward. "After you, Miss Granger."

She limped blindly into the darkness, groping at the walls so she wouldn't trip. She heard him follow behind her and a moment later the torches on the walls flared to life, revealing a large low-ceiling room, an elaborate mantle, and several pieces of dark, leathered furniture that rested atop finely woven emerald floor rugs. On one side wall there were floor-to-ceiling windows that, during daylight, would have a spectacular view of the grounds and lake.

"Oh, _wow_," said Hermione, hobbling over to the windows.

"Indeed," Professor Snape said, watching her. He might have told her to sit down, but he waited, observing the intrigued expression on her face.

"How far does the view go?"

"To the mountains."

"Wow," Hermione reiterated.

Professor Snape cleared his throat. "You will wait here and touch nothing, Miss Granger. I will fetch the first aid kit in my laboratory."

She turned from the windows. "Yes, sir – "

But he was already gone.

Carefully, Hermione made her way back to the center of the room, easing herself onto the nearest sofa. There in the sudden silence she looked around, curiously, at the doorways she assumed led off to a bedroom, bathroom, or the private laboratory of which Professor Snape had spoken. Opposite the hearth was an overflowing bookshelf covering the entire wall surface with books stacked two deep – though not at all haphazardly. There were books of every size and color – some had thick spines, while others had thin – and a few of the texts appeared to have teeth.

She heard him come back into the main chamber through one of the dark oak doors – though it was hardly difficult to do so, the room was completely silent.

"Are those all magical books?" Hermione asked as Professor Snape crossed the room stealthily, carrying a little box. She pointed to the bookshelf.

"Most," Professor Snape answered shortly. He pulled up a wooden chair and sat down directly in front of her.

Hermione's gaze traced the shelves longingly. "I bet it would take a lifetime to collect so many."

Professor Snape proceeded to open the box. "As you say."

She continued to stare at the books until Professor Snape cleared his throat.

"I _suggest_," he ground out, regarding her with a piercing gaze, "you tell me where besides your arm you are injured, Miss Granger. If you assume I wish to sit here idly all night waiting for you to speak, you are gravely mistaken."

"Oh," she blushed, chagrined. "Sorry, sir. Um, my leg, I suppose – "

" – Which leg?"

"The left one?"

"Are you _guessing_, Miss Granger, or are you providing me with an answer?" he asked mockingly.

"Er, no." She ducked her head, shaking it. "It's the left one – just below the knee."

He scooted his chair closer and, to Hermione's surprise, lifted her left leg – resting the heel of her foot atop his knee. It occurred to Hermione in that moment that she should be eternally grateful she chose not to wear stockings that day, and that her legs were bare. She didn't much fancy the thought of having to change in one of Professor Snape's rooms so he could view her leg properly.

"Professor," she asked tentatively, watching his black hair fall forward while he examined the cut on her leg, "why – why did you have to get a first aid kit? Can't wizards," she waved her little hands around, "... just heal things with magic?"

"An apt assessment, Miss Granger." He sounded almost bored. He reached into the little first aid kit and pulled out a jar of white salve. "Many injuries can be healed with the use of magic, though it is not always the case." He twisted the lid off and dipped his thumb and forefinger into the jar. "Those spells require a Healer's art, and as I am not a Healer – and as I _assumed_ you wished to keep all your appendages – " he looked up at her with a significant glance, "I elected to fetch the first aid kit."

He rubbed the salve carefully over the gash on her leg.

"Do you object to my decision, Miss Granger?"

She shook her head, watching his hands. "No, sir."

"Good. Now, be still."

Hermione was mostly silent as Professor Snape cleaned and bandaged her wounds, answering only when he questioned whether it hurt if he pressed here, if she were uncomfortable if he pushed there. Once finished, his things stored safely back in the first aid kit, Professor Snape rose to his feet, looking down at her darkly.

His jaw was tightly set, his fists clenched; he appeared as formidable and as intimidating as he ever had.

Hermione swallowed thickly.

"Tell me, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said softly, dangerously. "Were you or were you not sorted into Slytherin House?"

She frowned, confused. "I ... I was sorted into Slytherin, professor."

"Ah," said Professor Snape. He had begun to pace slowly in front of the mantle. "I see. Would you care to explain to me, then, why you _insist_ on conducting yourself outside the classroom in what I can only describe as typical, _Gryffindor_ stupidity?" He voice had risen steadily, in a frightening, foreboding crescendo.

Hermione had opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off, leaning over her menacingly. She shrank back in her chair; the cold of his anger chilled her.

"You will explain, Miss Granger, in exacting detail precisely _why_ you were involved in such an asinine scheme."

She recoiled slightly. "But, sir – "

"And do not _dare_ think to lie to me, girl," he snapped and leaned closer, practically hovering over her. "While your little story might have quieted the other professors – the compunction to take on a fully grown mountain troll simply because you _read about them_ is pathetically laughable," he snorted derisively, "you should feel fortunate your ability to think on your feet saved you from further questioning on Professor McGonagall's part."

He smiled cruelly, straightening to his full height. "I can most readily assure you, Miss Granger, I have the means to extract the truth if you chose to withhold it from me; I will forewarn you, however, it promises to be an uncomfortable experience on both our parts."

She blanched.

"P-professor," said Hermione timidly, finally, summoning all of her courage, "Harry and Weasley ... they, er, they didn't do anything wrong. Really. It was just as I said – they _did_ save me. Only ..."

"Only _what?_"

Watching him, backlit by the fireplace, Hermione was quite certain she could _feel _his contempt.

She hesitated, looking to her hands. "Only ... the reason I was in the bathroom wasn't because I was looking for the troll – I didn't even know there _was_ one in the school." She paused for a long moment.

"Miss Granger," said Professor Snape irritably, "this guessing game of yours is doing nothing to lessen your already _severe_ punishment. If your desire is for me to deduct points from Slytherin, then by all means," he gestured toward her roughly, "... continue in your silence."

"I – I'm sorry, professor," she murmured. "But ... I really don't want – that is, _please_ don't make me talk about it, sir."

"_I-do-not-care_," Professor Snape roared, gripping the armrest on her sofa. "You forfeited the right of your privacy the very moment you chose to disobey school rules." His dark eyes flashed dangerously. "You _will _tell me the truth, Miss Granger, or I will force it from you."

"I was crying!" she finally blurted out, burying her face in her hands.

He stared at her blankly. "You – what?"

Her little shoulders shook as she sobbed. "I – I was crying," she gasped into her hands. "Weasley said something awful about me, and I ... I ran to the bathroom and stayed there all afternoon. I missed class, the Halloween Feast – everything." She whimpered pathetically. "I didn't mean to ... I would _never _miss class, but ... "

She continued to babble incomprehensibly.

"Miss Granger, you will desist with these hysterics this very instant," he said sternly. "I demand it."

It took her a moment, but eventually she stopped crying and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her eyes, she was certain, were puffy and red, but she met his own dark gaze almost levelly, and tried to hold it.

"What," he asked more softly, when she had finally quieted, "transpired between you and Mr Weasley?"

She shrugged, vaguely embarrassed she had been reduced to tears in front of her professor. "He – he said that no one could stand me. That I was a nightmare." She sniffed loudly, quelling another outburst of tears. "It sounds silly now, I know, but it ... hurt my feelings." Her eyes dropped to the floor. "That's what the kids at home would say, too. I – I had hoped it might be different here. That I might fit in."

Professor Snape was silent a long moment.

His voice became soft in a way she had never heard before. "Miss Granger, it ... does not do to dwell on others' opinions."

She nodded, looking away from him. "I know."

He looked down at her. "Then let it go."

"I – I _am_ trying."

Professor Snape adjusted the chair and then lowered himself into it once more. "Miss Granger, look at me."

She blinked slowly, meeting his gaze.

"I will not lie to you, nor will I flatter you," he straightened in the chair. "No doubt you are aware that I do not mollycoddle my students."

She opened her mouth to say that she knew, that she couldn't imagine him ever handing out sweets the way Professor Dumbledore did. But looking into his weary, dark eyes, she hesitated just a moment. What sort of struggle left Professor Snape so tired?

She held her tongue.

He cleared his throat and his Adam's apple bobbed. "Miss Granger, I trust you remember your first night in this castle and that which I requested of you."

Hermione gave him a brief, grateful smile. "Yes, sir. You told me to come to you if someone threatened me. I hadn't forgotten."

He regarded her gravely. "Then know this, Miss Granger – that request goes _beyond_ the walls of Slytherin. Gryffindors, as well as any other House, have a tradition of be unforgivably harsh toward Slytherins."

Irrelevantly she thought of Weasely, of his utter disdain of her for no apparent reason whatsoever.

But her thoughts lashed out at her. _He helped save your life tonight._

"I have made a promise to the Headmaster," Professor Snape continued quietly, looking through the windows and out at the blackness beyond, "that I would do all in my power to protect you in light of your ... special circumstance – of the added danger you have been inadvertently placed in without any fault on your own part. This promise," he said, picking at the imaginary lint on the cuffs of his sleeves, "is an extension of one he, himself, made to your parents."

He then leaned forward and steepled his fingers, his eyes on her face. "And so, Miss Granger, I wonder what you'd have me report to Professor Dumbledore after an evening such as this?"

His black stare focused on her, and Hermione immediately shied away. "Do you understand, now, how foolish – how utterly _reckless _your recent actions have been? Nearly catching your death in the rain those few months ago – _bodily_ throwing yourself in front of a mountain troll? What," he demanded, in tones of incredulous rage, "would you have me explain to your parents in the event of your untimely death?"

She was absolutely still, as it started to half-dawn on her.

"Professor Snape," Hermione said abruptly, looking up at him, "I'm sorry, I – I didn't realize ... " She blinked helplessly. "I don't mean to be a burden to you, sir."

"Then _why_," he demanded, "do you insist on aligning yourself with Potter and his moronic cabal? Merlin, you invite it! Surely you realize by now their philosophy of 'act first, think later'?" He gave her a significant look. "_You_, Miss Granger, are above that."

The image of running after Harry and Weasley that night with the three-headed dog ambushed her, and she flushed, chastened. _Though_, she reminded herself, _Draco and Crabbe were just as involved as anyone._

Not knowing what more to say, she said simply, quietly, "I _am _sorry, sir."

He regarded her for a very long time, his eyes completely black in the dimly lighted room. It appeared for a moment that he was about to lay into her again, to tell her exactly how foolish she had been, but then, against every expectation she had yet formed of her Head of House, he said almost kindly, "Do not dwell on Mr Weasley's words, Miss Granger. They will only torment you. And surely," he added, "you must realize by now his outburst was made by jealously and nothing more."

She frowned. "Jealously, sir?"

Professor Snape sighed, and his voice carried sardonic tones. "Tell me, Miss Granger, has Mr Weasley ever answered a question to which you did not know the answer?"

Hermione shook her head. "I – I don't think so."

"Has he ever out–performed you in any of your classes?"

"Er, no, sir."

"Then his actions toward you should be obvious. He is immature _and_ a Gryffindor. You should expect nothing more of him."

She nodded and looked upward at his quiet form, standing perfectly still. "I – I was wondering, sir – er, I mean ... " she paused, visibly flustered she couldn't articulate herself properly. "Professor, are you – that is, are my private lessons going to be cancelled?"

He appeared surprised, in his own way. "Is that what you desire, Miss Granger?"

"No! Er, I mean _no, sir_," she back peddled, startled by her own outburst. "After everything that happened, I was worried – that is, I thought as punishment that you'd ... " she trailed off, suddenly wishing she hadn't spoken at all.

"A word of advice, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked at him and tilted her head. "Sir?"

"Think before you speak."

Her cheeks burned and she averted her eyes, suddenly feeling too exposed to meet his gaze directly. "Er, yes, sir."

"Come, Miss Granger," he said flatly. "I shall escort you to the Slytherin Common room." He let her up, regarding her dusty robes with apparent distaste. "Ah, yes, I had almost forgotten." His lip curled slightly. "You shall report to my office this Tuesday evening for your detention – as well as _every_ Tuesday throughout the remainder of November."

Hermione sighed, following him – wisely choosing to say nothing.

* * *

_A/N: This chapter took a little longer than I anticipated – Snape is sometimes dreadfully difficult (for me) to write and I got stuck for a LONG while. At any rate, I apologize for the delay. My initial goal was to try to have a chapter a week, so hopefully I'll be able to stick with that. This chapter was one of the first things that came to mind when I set out to write this fic, so despite the delay in updating, I enjoyed writing it immensely. As always, your thoughts and comments are always appreciated. I hope to hear from all of you._

_HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! (Appropriate, isn't it? Since this chapter takes place on Halloween? :) ) I hope everyone has "wicked" costumes this year._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**

* * *

  
**

The first time Hermione thought she might literally freeze to death, she wasn't even outside.

She was in the dungeons, which were chilly at the best of times, cupping her little hands and blowing warmth into them as she gathered her things from the Potion's classroom.

"I will see you the same time next week, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said from his high desk.

Hermione looked up at him, watching his hands at work with quite purpose as they carefully traced over the parchment of essays to be graded.

"Yes, sir," she replied dutifully, doing her best not to cringe at the prospect of another detention. She scooped up her satchel, heaving it over her shoulder, and rubbed her arms vigorously. "Professor," she ventured with curiosity, "aren't you – well, _freezing_?"

He looked up from his work, his brow furrowed. "I am not," he said simply. And then his dark eyes appraised her carefully. "The winter months are harsh in Scotland. You would do well to dress more appropriately."

Hermione stared, unblinking. "But I'm already wearing three layers!" She spread her arms out and looked down at herself, incredulous. "I won't be able to walk if have any more!"

He turned back to his work, dipping his quill into an ink pot. "I suggest you think of something, Miss Granger; the weather has turned, and I have no desire to listen to you whine all afternoon at the quidditch match this weekend."

Hermione breathed in; she had secretly hoped to avoid that scenario entirely. "Oh. Er, about that, sir." She approached his desk carefully, idly tracing her finger on the nearest desk. "Are students _required _to attend quidditch matches? I had hoped to use the common room to study – "

The look on his face answered her before he even spoke, and she backed away unconsciously.

"Do you recall, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said icily, his gaze severe, "that which I spoke of in the Slytherin common room, directly after the Welcoming Feast?"

Hermione's breath caught a little – watching him in that massive silence that made her think of a panther. _Of course_ she remembered his speech. She remembered practically every word he had ever spoken to her.

It was difficult, she found, _not _to.

"I – well, I remember, sir."

"Indeed?" He dipped his quill again and leaned over his work. His black hair fell forward and obscured his face. "And what do you recall about House unity?"

She felt slightly ashamed. "That we look out for one another. Help and support each other where we can."

"Ah. Then I suspect you know the answer to your own question, Miss Granger."

"Er, yes, sir. I do," she replied quietly.

"Good," he said crisply. "You are dismissed."

Outside the Potion's classroom, in the drafty corridors, Draco was waiting for her.

"Draco," Hermione said flatly, somewhat startled. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey," he greeted cheerfully. "What'd you have to do for detention _this_ week?"

News of Hermione's detentions with Professor Snape spread like a hungry wildfire. No one in Slytherin knew how, exactly, she had been involved with the defeat of a twelve-foot-tall mountain troll, though the speculations were as rampant as the gossip could spread. Draco, she suspected, was driving himself mad that he hadn't been a part of it.

"Scrub cauldrons with a scouring pad."

He blinked. It suddenly seemed ludicrous to Hermione that Draco might understand the simple mechanics of muggle cleaning supplies.

"It's a muggle cleaning tool made of steel wool," Hermione explained, walking with him in the direction of the common room. She stretched her hands reflexively, looking down at the red marks. "It scrapes your hands after awhile."

Draco snorted. "Well, Snape would never make detention enjoyable. Crabbe and I had to clean the first floor bathrooms last week." He wrinkled his nose in disgust, caught up in the memory. "At first he made us believe we weren't allowed gloves – I thought Crabbe was going to retch – and then he tossed us both a pair and said if he ever caught us out of the common room after hours, he _would _make us clean the bathrooms without gloves."

Hermione shivered at the thought. "That's disgusting."

"Yeah," Draco agreed. "I'm not taking any chances. You wouldn't believe how dirty those toilets – "

"Ugh, enough," Hermione held up her hand. "You're going to make _me_ retch if you don't stop."

Draco chuckled lightly. "Yeah, well, I don't know if he'd really make us do it. Beneath it all, he's not all bad, you know."

Hermione smiled thinly. "I know."

"Did you know," Draco commented after a long moment, as they quickly huddled down the corridor, "that I've seen Snape smile? Laugh even?"

Hermione blinked. Professor Snape's stern expression was generally the one only he ever made. "_Professor _Snape," she corrected, trying to imagine how his face might look with a smile.

"Yeah, yeah," Draco said noncommittally. "_Professor _Snape, then."

They rounded the last bend before the common room entrance. "When?" Hermione asked.

"When what?"

She rolled her eyes. "_When_ did you see him laugh?"

"Oh," said Draco. "At the Manor. He occasionally stops by to visit father."

"They're friends?"

He shrugged. "They went to school together – though they weren't in the same year. Both were in Slytherin, obviously. Father is a few years older, I think. Snape – er, _Professor _Snape," he corrected when he saw she was about to protest, "has been coming to the Manor since before I can even remember."

They reached the trap door.

"I wonder why," Hermione said finally, pensively, wondering whether she was addressing Draco more or herself, "he never seems to be ... well, _happy_ at Hogwarts. Do you think he hates teaching?"

Draco shrugged. "Dunno. Never thought about it."

"But you said he seems happy when he visits your father, right?"

Draco spoke the password and hung back for Hermione to enter first.

"Sometimes. He looks _happier. _I just don't think he's a happy bloke, Hermione." The door closed behind him. "There's no use in worrying about it; he can take care of himself."

Hermione made for the huge hearth. "Why – why do you do that?" she asked suddenly. She rubbed her hands together vigorously, urging the warmth back into them.

Draco followed her. "Do what?"

"Make me go first. You always wait."

He took off his gloves and held his hands to the flames. "Father says it's good manners – to let girls go into places first." He shrugged. "He always does it for mother."

She watched the licking flames. "Oh."

They stood that way for a long moment, as Hermione weighed what Draco had told her about Professor Snape. What did it mean, any of it? There were depths to her professor that were disturbing enough – frightening, even. How could a person be so intimidating – so _terrifying_, and at the same time be something else entirely? Had he not told her to come to him if she felt threatened? Had he not cared for her injuries? Though he was stern and had a no-nonsense attitude at Hogwarts, was it possible that away from school he was different as Draco suggested? That he was happy?

In the next instant, before she could dwell any longer on it, Hermione heard soft footfalls and smelt Millie's shampoo from somewhere behind her.

"Hey guys," Millie grumbled unhappily. "Ugh, this castle is _freezing_."

"I should write father," Draco said, turning his hands back and forth in front of the flames. "He's on the Board of Governors here at Hogwarts – very high up. I bet he could do something."

"I think it's just the dungeons," Hermione commented, turning around to warm her backside. "The Main Hall is never like this."

"Still," Draco puffed angrily, "I'm sure father could do _something_. It's bloody ridiculous. How're we supposed to learn a damn thing if we're freezing to death?"

"Don't swear," Hermione scolded. "If a teacher heard, you'd lose us House points.

"Oh, lighten up, Hermione," Millie piped in, scooting over to stand closer to the flames. "Draco's right. Maybe his dad can get something done. I slept with four pairs of socks on last night and was _still _cold. That's just wrong."

"They're likely trying to kill us Slytherins off," Draco said sullenly, putting his leather gloves back on.

"Honestly, Draco," Hermione sighed. "Don't you think that's a bit far fetched?"

"No," he said haughtily. "Didn't you hear Snape the night of the Welcome Feast? He said that we'd be specifically targeted by the other Houses. That we'd be feared. Hated." He gave her a significant look. "Even _you_ can't deny that."

"Maybe," Hermione conceded after a long moment, "but Professor Dumbledore would never allow it. I'm sure it's just the design of the castle. We're the unlucky lot that has to live in the dungeons, is all. And the towers can't be much warmer – think of the wind they must get up there! It's bound to be horribly drafty."

Draco muttered something unintelligible.

Across the common room, through the near silence of the chilled space, Hermione noticed Marcus Flint watching the three of them, his dark eyes unblinking. She passed an moment of uneasiness as his gaze found and held hers. Her heart tightened inexplicably; he did not look away.

_Why is he looking at me?_

"Er, Marcus is on the quidditch team, isn't he?" she asked quietly, when she lost her never and had to drop her gaze.

"Flint?" muttered Draco, glancing over at the older boy. "Yeah, he's the captain. Heard he's a brilliant flier and he better be – I want to see the look on Potter's face this weekend when Slytherin crushes Gryffindor."

"I heard Potter's good," Millie offered indifferently. "The Gryffindors can't stop talking about him. Saying he's their 'secret weapon'."

"Flint will crush him," Draco said confidently.

Hermione picked up her satchel, surreptitiously glancing over her shoulder to see if Marcus was still watching her. He was leaning forward in a dark, leather chair, his fingers steepled beneath a prominent chin. He hadn't moved an inch. "Well, I'm off to study," she said quickly. "Since we have the match this weekend I want to make sure I get a head start on my Transfiguration essay."

Draco grunted noncommittally, his eyes intent on watching the licking flames.

"Be over in a bit," said Millie, nodding toward the dormitories. "I need to thaw out some first. Oh! You mind looking over my Potion's assignment later? I think I've done a fair job, but, you know," she shrugged, "just to be certain and all."

"Sure," Hermione said. "I'll organize my notes so we can compare."

"Brilliant."

Hermione realized rather quickly that she couldn't have chosen a more perfect time to leave. The moment she began padding across the width of the room, Pansy emerged from the girl's dormitories and made a beeline for Draco.

"Hermione," she said stiffly in passing, holding her nose high.

"Pansy," Hermione replied softly, quickening her pace.

_Is it honestly so difficult to believe that I really and truly don't like your boyfriend?_

Gripping the handle to the door, Hermione stiffened when she felt a light hand on her shoulder. Without turning around, she heard a deep voice behind her.

"Hermione," it said. "Do you have a moment?"

She glanced over her shoulder and was mildly surprised to see Marcus Flint staring down at her. Her chest tightened.

"Er, sure."

His thin lips quirked upward slightly. He folded his arms across his broad chest. "I should thank you, you know, since all I've heard about you is how you earn all kinds of points for Slytherin in your classes." He chuckled deeply. "You've got quite the reputation."

Hermione ducked her chin, vaguely embarrassed that she was blushing. "Uh, thanks, Marcus."

He smirked. "Snape's even brought you up in one of my classes."

Hermione's eyes widened to near perfect circles. "Really?"

"Yeah," he smirked, "though he didn't mention your name specifically, I'm sure he was referring to you. He told some Hufflepuff girl that he had a first year in his House that could brew a potion better than she could."

She blinked at him, surprised. "Wow – I mean, that's ... that's a compliment – coming from him."

Marcus nodded. "It is."

"Though," she added, biting her lower lip, "I can't help but feel bad for the girl – "

" – Don't," Marcus interrupted, "she's a daft bint. Everyone my year knows it."

Hermione frowned, not knowing quite how to respond. "Er, was ... was there something you needed? I mean, I just had some studying I was going to do in my dormitory ... "

Marcus shook his head. "No, I just wanted to talk, is all. We're in the same House, after all, and it seemed elitist and wrong that I hadn't properly introduced myself."

"Oh," said Hermione, looking away, "It's fine, really. You're years ahead of me – I hadn't expected you to."

He shrugged, picking at something on his sleeve. "I'll look for you at the match on Saturday."

She stared at him and took an involuntary half-step back. There was something odd in his eyes – something she didn't like. She felt it, like a pressure drop before a storm. "Er, okay."

And before Hermione could mutter an excuse to hurry inside the dormitory, Marcus had turned and made his way stealthily across the common room.

* * *

The morning of the quidditch match dawned bright and cold.

Hermione headed up to the Main Hall for breakfast with Millie slowly, throwing a green scarf around her neck. She sighed and rubbed her bleary eyes – nearly tripping up the stone stairs – angry with herself for staying up as late as she did to finish that extra chapter in History of Magic.

The second she reached the Entrance Hall, Harry barreled directly toward her, his green eyes hard and focused.

"Hermione," he said breathlessly, "I need to talk to you." He glanced up at Millie and hesitated. "_Alone_."

"Listen, Potter," said Millie, pointing at the boy with a huge index finger, "Anything you need to say to Hermione – "

"It's okay, Mille," Hermione interrupted, halfway between a yawn, "I'll meet you over at the table."

Millie scowled, making sure to give Harry a hard look before she turned to make her way to the Main Hall. Once at the doors, she glanced over her broad shoulder with a darkened expression for good measure.

"What's up, Harry?" Hermione asked, as Harry took her by the arm and led her to an empty alcove.

"I need to talk to you," he said, almost tripping over his own words, "... about Snape."

"_Professor _Snape, Harry – "

"Fine!" Harry snapped, "_Professor _Snape, then. Look, Hermione, this is _really_ important."

She looked over at him with dark, expressive eyes. "Okay. What is it, Harry?"

He sighed deeply, and in a gesture Hermione was beginning to see as a habit, stole his hand up to his unkempt hair, and rubbed it absentmindedly. "I accidentally ran into Snape – er, Professor Snape and Filch. He took a book of mine a few days ago," he explained, "and I was just trying to get it back. But I heard him say something to Filch, something that I _know _I wasn't supposed to hear."

Hermione frowned. "What was it?"

Harry was silent a long moment – debating, perhaps, whether or not to say anything. Eventually, though, he made a small sigh of decision. "I saw his leg – it was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing him some bandages and Snape started cursing, saying 'how is anyone supposed to keep their eyes on all three heads at once' – it's _so_ obvious he had to have been talking about that three-headed dog, Hermione! What else could it have been?"

Hermione stared at him.

"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when I saw him – he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick _he_ let that troll in, to make a diversion!"*

Hermione's eyes were wide.*

"No – he wouldn't," she said. "I know he's not horribly nice to Gryffindor – or, well_ ... anyone_, really – but he wouldn't try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."*

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something,*" snapped Harry. "You can't deny the facts."

"You're _certain_ that's what you heard, Harry? Absolutely positive?"

He nodded emphatically. "Yes. And he knows I heard him. He screamed at me to get out of his sight."

_That_, Hermione mused unhappily, _certainly does sound like Professor Snape._

"Look," said Harry, "I told you, Hermione, because – because I trust you. I'm not stupid – I know our Houses hate each other. I know we don't get on."

He hesitated just a moment.

"But it's different with you. I don't really understand how ... or why, but it is. You stuck up for Ron and I when you didn't have to – "

" – After you saved my life," she interjected.

He smiled shyly. "Well," he said with a tinge of embarrassment, "that's what ... _friends_ do, right?"

She looked back at him, startled.

Not the surprise of confusion, but the deeper shock of affection imposed without warning, touching her in the most tender portion of her little soul.

"Oh, _Harry_," she whispered, "do you really mean it? That you want to be friends?"

Harry ducked his head, not looking her in the eye. "Well, yeah," he muttered. "Er, if you want to, that is."

She squealed in delight, grabbing his forearms. "Oh, of course I do!" She smiled at him, beaming from ear to ear. "When we were sorted, I desperately hoped we'd be in the same House. It seems silly now, doesn't it? That we couldn't still be friends just because I was placed into Slytherin and you in Gryffindor? Why should it even matter?"

"I don't know," admitted Harry. "But it seems to matter. To everyone."

"Yes, it does," Hermione conceded. "Weasley – well, he's hated me from the start."

"Just like Malfoy hates me."

Hermione nodded. "Well, I don't see why it should matter if_ we're_ friends, Harry."

He nodded. "I don't either."

He was quiet for a long moment, and then took on an intensity that was almost disturbing. "I need your help with Snape, Hermione. Please. You're the only one who can help me."

"Harry," Hermione shook her head. "I know how it must have sounded to you, but you don't need to worry about Professor Snape. He ... may seem a bit rude, but he's a Hogwarts teacher. He wouldn't go against Dumbledore."

"You can't know that for certain," he insisted. "You've only known the bloke a few months, Hermione. He could have all sorts of intentions you don't know about." He took his middle and index finger and rubbed the scar on his forehead, wincing slightly, as if in pain. "Look, can't you just, I don't know," he spread his hands out helplessly, "keep your eyes and ears out for anything suspicious with him? You've got private lessons with him, right? That's all I'm asking."

She closed her eyes for a long moment, surely looking as though she were struggling for words. Finally she said very softly, "I don't want you to get your hopes up, Harry, but I promise that if I hear anything unusual, I'll ... I'll let you know."

He smiled at her gratefully, his green eyes brightening. "Thanks, Hermione. Really, that makes me feel loads better."

She blushed, though she was very eager to change the subject. "Are – are you excited for the game today?"

Harry's face immediately paled. "Uh, not excited, really – more nervous, I think."

Hermione nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure that's normal – being your first match and all. Everyone's saying you're a great flier, though."

He looked mildly startled. "Really?"

"Yes. Just don't think about the crowd. I'm sure you'll do fine."

"You're pulling for Gryffindor, then?"

She chuckled and started walking toward the Great Hall. "Not likely, Harry. I'm Slytherin through and through. I hope you have a good game, though."

Trailing behind her, Harry muttered something incomprehensible.

The Main Hall was full of the expected cheerful chatter – though the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables both seemed extra excited and loud.

Hermione spotted Millie at the Slytherin table and headed over. "Good luck, Harry," she called over her shoulder.

Harry slowly made his way in the direction of the Gryffindor table, looking rather pale and uncertain, and muttered very quietly, "Yeah, see you."

* * *

The wind was blowing something fierce.

Hermione climbed the stands toward the top row and felt slightly breathless.

"Hermione!" Draco called, waving his hands wildly at her. "Over here! We've saved you and Millie a seat!"

She and Millie scooted across the stands in front of her housemates – all who appeared quite annoyed they hadn't arrived earlier – standing to let them pass.

Pansy, for her part, didn't look pleased at all that Hermione and Millie had joined them.

"Look at this," said Draco, holding up a huge banner that said _Go Slytherin_ and had a silver snake wrapped around the edges of it. "What do you think? Can you charm the letters, Hermione? Like how Flitwick was showing us to change colors?"

"Sure," said Hermione, pulling out her wand. "Oh, wait! I don't think we're allowed to perform magic on the grounds – "

"Come off it, Hermione," Draco puffed, holding the banner so it was directly in front of her. "All the teachers are over there in that side stand – not a one of them will care that you're charming letters."

"I don't know ... "

"Just do it," said Millie, sitting down next to Pansy so Hermione wouldn't have to. "There's a million people here. They couldn't see you if they wanted to. And besides, what's dangerous about changing the colors of a banner?"

"I think it's more the principle of the – "

"_Hermione_," Draco growled.

"Oh, alright," Hermione relented. "But if I get caught and Slytherin loses points, you'll only have yourselves to blame. And if you I'll be cleaning those toilets alone, Draco, think again."

Very matter-of-factly, she cast the charm while Draco blocked her from the view of the teachers. Millie and Pansy both stood watch as the letters instantly chanced back and forth from green to silver.

"Brilliant!" beamed Draco, holding the banner out to observe it more clearly.

"Oy, hush up!" Millie shouted at them. "Here come the teams!"

Hermione quickly scooted to her seat and sat down, watching two teams colored in red and green emerge from the locker rooms. Immediately, there were roars and cheers from the crowd.

"Woo hoo!" shouted Millie, rising to her feet. "Go Slytherin!"

Pansy, too, had gotten to her feet, and proceeded to shout obscenities at the red team.

"Pansy, I don't think – "

But Hermione was cut off as Draco stood, waving the banner wildly – she had to duck to avoid a direct blow from his elbow to her face.

The cheering continued as the players gathered at the center of the pitch, and Hermione couldn't hear anything, save for the roar of the crowd, until the loud screech of Madam Hooch's whistle sounded and each player shot off the ground and into the windy air.

Lee Jordan, a Gryffindor, began commentating on the match, as Professor McGonagall scolded him after virtually every sentence.

"Any sign of the snitch?" Draco asked, once Gryffindor had scored the first goal.

"No," said Millie, her light eyes scanning the sky. "I can't make out a thing! Where are your binoculars?"

Hermione watched the match closely, though she was slightly ashamed her mind was wandering to her unfinished Transfiguration essay.

_The five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration are –_

"Ugh, Gryffindor scored _again_," moaned Draco. He buried his face his in hands.

Hermione shook her head and sincerely tried to focus on the match, oddly grateful for the biting wind – hoping it would keep her mind from wandering too far. At that very moment Marcus Flint blocked Harry, and it looked as though he had nearly knocked her Gryffindor friend off his broom.

"Hey!" Hermione cried, jumping to her feet. "Foul! That was a foul! He could have killed Harry!"

"It's quidditch," Pansy said snobbishly. "If your _boyfriend _can't handle it, he should quit the team."

"Harry isn't my _boyfriend_, Pansy," Hermione snapped. "He's just my friend!"

"Yeah, right. I _saw_ how he pulled you over at breakfast to talk this morning. Probably whispering little love notes, wasn't he?"

"Oh, honestly," Hermione scowled. "You said the same thing about me and Neville – just because I stick up for someone doesn't mean I like them. I don't like _any_ boy like that!"

"Hush up! Both of you!" Draco shouted at them. And then he seemed to comprehend what they had been arguing about. "Wait, Hermione. You fancy ... _Potter_?"

"Ugh, no – I'm NOT dating Harry!"

"Shut _up_!" Millie yelled. "We're missing the match!"

Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the stands.

"So – after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating – "*

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.*

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul – "*

"_Jordan, I'm warning you – _"*

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play. Gryffindor still in possession."*

"Bullocks," muttered Draco. "They baby those Gryffindors so much it makes me sick. Bloody ridiculous."

Hermione frowned, watching Harry, who suddenly looked as though he didn't have any control over his broom.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession – Flint with the Quaffle – passes Spinnet – passes Bell – hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose – only joking, Professor – Slytherins score – oh, no... "*

But everyone in the Slytherin section was cheering over Marcus' goal.

Draco snatched his binoculars from Millie. "Oi! What's Potter think he's doing?" He squinted as he peered up into the sky. "Looks like he can't control his broom!"

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. His broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. Harry's broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.*

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. "Oh – HOLD ON, Harry!"

"Did something happen to his broom when Marcus hit him?" Millie asked, standing on her tiptoes, as though the action might enable her to see more clearly.

Hermione snatched the binoculars from Draco and focused them up at Harry. "I don't think so – oh, _no_," she moaned, "it looks like the broom has been jinxed! Nothing else would cause it to move like that!"

"Who would jinx Potter's broom?" Draco asked. He appeared slightly amused. "No one's _that _thick. They'd get caught straightaway!"

"It has to be a Slytherin," said Hermione, standing up on her seat bench to search the crowd below her. "Help me look!"

"Look for what?" Millie asked, already following after her friend.

"For who's jinxing the broom!"

"_You!_" Pansy screeched, hands on her hips. "You rotten Gryffindor lover! Why does have to be a _Slytherin_?"

"Use your head, Pansy! Who, besides Slytherin, hates Harry?" Hermione demanded shrilly, frantically scanning the faces below her. "No one! No Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or anyone from his own House would try to hurt him! It's got to be one of us – that's why!"

Pansy frowned, pouting. "There are bound to be people in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw who think Potter's a slick git – "

"How is anyone supposed to know who's casting the jinx?" Draco interrupted.

"Their lips will be moving," Hermione said hurriedly, swinging the binoculars over each of the rows, "and they'll be making eye contact with Harry. You _have_ to maintain eye contact."

"You can't see anyone's face from this angle, Hermione. How – "

But Hermione was pushing past him, and hurdling down the stairs. _Come on, _she thought desperately, looking back up at the crowd. Everyone was standing and pointing at Harry – whispering and shouting to their friends as they watched him.

It was with a sickening terror that she realized whomever it was that was casting the jinx could be anyone. There was no way to tell a conversation apart from a muttered incantation.

She whirled around, looking back up at Harry. He was hanging on to the broom – barely.

_Think, Hermione – think!_

Suddenly, there was a commotion coming from the teacher's stands. Professor Snape, Hermione saw – with a moment of sudden, dawning horror – was partially on fire.

She froze. The wind kept blowing; her breath steamed in the chill air.

Involuntarily, her legs kicked off against the stands toward him – to do what, she didn't know. And then she froze completely – _Harry! _– and whirled around. Up in the air, Harry had somehow managed to clamber back onto his broom.

Hermione felt the aftershakes of her hands beside her, felt the changes of the waning fight-or-flight ebb as she simultaneously realized that Harry was alright and that Professor Snape had somehow managed to put out the fire. For a very long moment she simply stood, unsure of what just transpired.

Across the stands, on the front row, poor Neville Longbottom was sobbing into Hagrid's jacket.

And then Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick – he hit the field on all fours – coughed – and something gold fell into his hand.*

"I've got the Snitch!*" Hermione heard him shout over the roar of the crowd, and the game ended abruptly – in complete and utter confusion.

Hermione shook her head violently. _Sanity, Hermione. Keep it together._

She felt torn. A momentary happiness for Harry's success – and the fact that he was _alive_ – flitted through her chest, and then the cries and wailing of the Slytherins found her ears, and she was surprised by how much she cared her House had lost a game she previously thought silly.

Her eyes flicked back up to Professor Snape, who was in a fierce argument with Professor Quirrell.

And just as suddenly as the match had ended, Draco and Millie were beside her. "Potter didn't _catch_ the Snitch, he nearly _swallowed _it*," Draco moaned. "What a load of rubbish!"

Hermione, her eyes still on Professor Snape, asked, "Is that against the rules?"

Millie shrugged. "Who knows? Hooch didn't call it, though."

Lee Jordan's happy voice boomed over the pitch, announcing that Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.

"Wow," said Hermione. "That's really awful."

"Tell me about it," groaned Draco. Pansy pushed her way through the crowd toward them and rushed up to the blond boy, patting his back in frantic consolation. "I'll never hear the end of it from either Potter or Weasley. Ugh – I think I'm going to be sick."

"Did you see," Hermione asked, rubbing her hands together to generate as much warmth as she could, "Professor Snape? He – he, well he caught fire!"

"What?" asked Pansy stupidly.

"When Harry was hanging from his broom, when he almost fell, I saw Professor Snape – and he was on fire! I think someone cast a spell on him."

Pansy looked for her Head of House. "Well, he seems alright now. Maybe it was Quirrell – Snape looks as though he's going to rip his head off."

"Wouldn't want to be whoever that was," said Millie solemnly. She scanned the teacher's stands. "Snape's bound to find out, and I can only imagine how angry he'll be. I don't even feel sorry for the bloke who did it – it's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"I'm going back to the common room," Draco said sullenly. "Don't want to see any Gryffindors at the moment."

"Ugh, me neither," Pansy chimed in, scuttling after him.

Millie fell in stride behind the pair. "Coming, Hermione?" she asked, looking over her shoulder.

Hermione shook her head. "You go on ahead. I want to see if I can speak with Professor Snape."

The larger girl shrugged indifferently and hurried down the steps onto the pitch, trailing after the rest of the deflated Slytherins.

Professor Snape was still in a heated argument with the Defense professor when Hermione approached the base of the teacher's stands. She took the first step when she felt a rough hand on her back.

"Oy," said Weasley, his cheeks and ears red from the cold. "Watch it, eh?"

Hermione scowled. "What's the matter with you, Weasley? Gryffindor won – you don't need to rub it in."

But he stepped forward and climbed up the steps so he was eye level with her. "Course we won," he said snidely. "Gryffindor's a better team all around – they don't need to cheat and they _still _win."

"Just because Hooch doesn't call a foul, doesn't mean we _cheat_, Weasley."

"Listen here, Granger," Weasley puffed grumpily. "I've got a thing or two to say to you."

She folded her arms crossly. "Oh yeah? Let's have it, then."

He scowled fiercely. "I know Harry's keen on being your friend – no matter how daft I tell him he is. And I know you covered for us when we saved your hide from the troll, but I know the real truth about Slytherins, Granger – the whole lot of you."

"And what's that, Weasley?" Hermione snapped. "That we're all evil? That we're plotting your demise in the dungeons?" She laughed humorlessly. "Oh, yes, you've outed us. Well done."

He brought his face uncomfortably close to hers, his blue eyes full of suspicion and anger. "I saw _Snape_ casting a jinx on Harry – don't think I didn't!"

"What?" Hermione hissed, incredulously. "You're daft! You can't honestly think a teacher would deliberately hurt a student!"

"I _saw_ him, Granger," Weasley growled. His face was strangely distorted. "He was cursing Harry's broomstick and muttering – he couldn't keep his eyes off him!"

"That's ridiculous," Hermione snarled. "Why on earth would Professor Snape want to jinx Harry?"

"You think I don't know a jinx when I see one, Granger?" he shouted. "You've got to keep eye contact and Snape wasn't blinking!*"

"You're wrong!" Hermione breathed hotly. "You're jumping to conclusions over what _you_ _think you saw. _If you just stopped to think for about five seconds – "

"I DID see it, Granger!" Weasley was yelling full-force now, and a small crowd had gathered around them. "If I hadn't done something about it, Harry would've been killed!"

Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. "That was ... _you_? You set Professor Snape _on fire_? Oh, you should be _expelled!_"

"Or given a medal, is more likely," Weasley shouted, "for saving someone's life!"

"WEASLEY!"

Professor Snape had come out of nowhere.

Stealthily, purposefully, he placed himself between Hermione and Weasley. The wooden floor shook beneath him.

With his back to her, his black robe billowing furiously into the wind, he looked more massive and unmovable than all the structure around them. There was fury set into his shoulders, like that of a wrathful king, as he looked down at Weasley.

"Weasley," Professor Snape growled, "Explain yourself."

Weasley blinked, taking a few steps backward. He bumped into the stand's railing. "Er, I was ... uh, just – "

" – You were threatening a fellow student without provocation," Professor Snape interrupted. "Detention, Weasley. Tonight, in my office."

Wealsey's blue eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "But the celebration feast!" he protested. "In Gryffindor Tower! I can't – "

Professor Snape stepped forward and leaned menacingly over the ginger haired boy. "_Tonight_, Mr Weasley," he reiterated dangerously, "or I shall report you to Professor Dumbledore, myself."

"But – "

" – Twenty points from Gryffindor, Weasley," Professor Snape interrupted. "For arguing with a professor. Now, _get out of my sight_."

"_Twenty _points!"

Professor Snape merely glared at him.

Weasley looked very much like he wanted to say something more, but thought better of it, and turned on his heels and scrambled away as quickly as he was able.

"Sir?" Hermione asked tentatively, coming about from behind him. The wind tangled her bushy hair as she watched Weasley hurry across the grounds.

He said nothing, but stiffened momentarily, and she knew that he had heard.

"I – I saw the fire, sir. Are you alright?"

He stalked off the steps and onto the pitch. "You will follow me, Miss Granger. Immediately."

She hesitated slightly, and then rushed to catch him up.

"Sir?"

"Silence, Miss Granger," Professor Snape snapped. "Until we are in the privacy of my office."

She shrunk back slightly, but jogged quietly behind him, wrapping her scarf around her neck twice as she ducked her head, blocking her eyes from the wind.

The castle was warmly lit and welcoming after the frigid afternoon weather. Hermione rubbed her hands together vigorously, blowing warmth into them. It occurred to her, belatedly, that she had never seen Professor Snape as angry as he had just been with Weasley. It looked as though he had only barely been able to restrain himself from doing something he might later regret. The contempt in his voice had frightened her to the point where she wasn't completely certain she wished to be alone with him.

"Hurry, Miss Granger," his voice snapped as they descended the stairs to the dungeons. "I haven't all night to deal with you." He flicked his wand at the torches on the side walls and they roared to life as they passed. "I have a detention to plan for Mr Weasley."

"I _am_ hurrying, Professor," Hermione protested. "My legs can only go so fast – "

" – No interruptions," he snapped.

Hermione heard the click of her teeth as she shut her mouth and hurried after him.

* * *

Inside his office, once the door was safely shut and warded behind them, Severus summoned a nearby chair and collapsed against it, wincing as he pulled off his cloak.

_Damn that Weasley._

"Sir?" Miss Granger rushed to him. "Are – are you alright?"

"Miss Granger," he drawled, "I am well aware that it is your deepest desire to Mollycoddle anyone within arm's reach, but I must insist you desist this very moment."

Her brown eyes widened as she looked up at him. Small, thin little thing that she was.

"Sir," she pressed. "I saw you catch fire. I – I think that it was – "

" – Weasley?" he snorted. "Of course it was. You must think me to be dreadfully unobservant, Miss Granger – or, woefully unintelligent." He reached down and massaged his calf through his boot.

"Did he burn you, sir? Please, what do you need? Burn paste? I'll fetch it for you."

Severus looked up from his leg and regarded his young charge. _So young, so naive – so full of hope. _

_Every bit the opposite of me._

He sighed. "Second cabinet on the left." He nodded to the far wall. "Third row down. First drawer."

She took off before he had even finished speaking. He was mildly surprised the girl could move so fast.

"Is it a grey jar?" she hollered, her bushy head buried into the drawer. "With a white lid?"

"The very thing, Miss Granger."

She rushed back to him, holding the jar as a mother might cradle her newborn child. When she reached him, she tried the lid – visibly struggling as her teeth worried her lower lip. He reached out impatiently, intent on snatching it out of her hands to do the deed himself when he watched her brandish her wand, and mutter a charm at the jar.

The lid turned of its own accord.

Miss Granger pocketed her wand and moved the obstacle with her tiny, tiny hands. She held the jar out to him, looking up expectantly.

He met her eyes silently. "I gather, Miss Granger," he said slowly, finally, "that you have read ahead in more than just Potions."

Her lips turned upward slightly. There was a dry gleam in her eye. "Oh, I love Charms, sir. It's really a very practical subject."

Severus took the lid from her carefully, rolling it around in his palm. That a first-year knew the theory of such a complex charm was not his primary concern at the moment. His visual recall fired back to his conversation with Quirrell. It didn't take someone with _his_ expertise to know the bumbling fool was more than he seemed. His heart kicked up against his chest. He needed to mend his burns immediately and get rid of the girl.

"Sir," Miss Granger said numbly, her eyes now fixed on her hands. "Weasley said ... he said the reason he set you on fire was because he thought you were jinxing Harry's broom – that you were maintaining eye contact." She entwined and untwined her fingers repeatedly. "Murmuring to yourself."

Severus blinked. He wouldn't have pegged the boy as one to understand the complexities of a jinx. He wouldn't have pegged Weasley for much of anything. He was a Gryffindor. A nuisance. Nothing more. He thought back to the pitch, where Weasley had been yelling and screaming at Miss Granger. Severus had all but flown down the bleachers to place himself between the boy and Miss Granger, certain the Weasley child was about to strike her.

The rage he felt against the boy was nothing. The fact that he had nearly lost control and hexed him into oblivion was slightly more disconcerting.

"And what," he paused, partially for emphasis, partially because he was surprised by her candor, "do _you_ think, Miss Granger?"

Her bright brown eyes met his gaze. They sat, looking at each other in silence for awhile. "You wouldn't hurt a student," she said softly. "He must have seen wrong – or ... or you were doing something_ ... _something _else._"

He raised his eyebrows. "Indeed? And what makes you so certain, Miss Granger? That I wouldn't, as you say, 'hurt a student'?"

There was a strange edge to her voice when she spoke. Her eyes looked up at him. Wide and raw. "Because, sir," she said quietly, "you asked me to come to you if I ever felt threatened. You – you took care of me after the troll was let loose in the girl's lavatory. It wouldn't make sense for you to do those things if you really wanted to hurt us."

He snorted loudly. With unfeigned bitterness he said, "You would do well to remember this, Miss Granger, for it may save your very life one day." He paused, perhaps for dramatic emphasis. He wasn't entirely certain. "To trust too easily can be a death wish in this world. Use your instincts, girl – your brain. Merlin knows you have a capable one."

She blinked, surprised. "Professor," she said quietly, with obvious reluctance, "are you saying – that ... that you don't _want _me to trust you? That I shouldn't?"

His gaze went to his left forearm without intention. He scratched it idly. "That is for you to decide, Miss Granger, and you alone. Now, I shall require some privacy to apply the burn paste if you please." He picked up the jar of paste and cast her a baleful glare. He watched as the comprehension of his words sank into her evidently limitless mind. She seemed slightly wounded by them, but merely nodded respectfully before she turned to leave his office.

When she reached the door, she leaned against it slightly, resting her cheek against the wooden facade. Though her eyes were cast downward and her voice almost a whisper, he heard her every word.

"I do trust you, though, Professor."

And then she closed the door quietly behind her.

Severus stared into the jar of burn paste, hating himself.

* * *

_A/N: I apologize for the horribly long wait for this update. My life has been complete chaos for the last few weeks. Nothing serious – just insanely busy. I can't tell you how grateful I have been for all the reviews thus far. It's a strange, strange sort of giddiness I get when I check my inbox and see a review post. So, thank you. Hopefully I'll be able to update a little more quickly for the next chapter. It's my goal. Thanks for all the wonderful support so far. It's the reason I keep writing._

_-Liz_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**

* * *

  
**

_Most magic is relatively neutral – it can be used for good or for bad._

Hermione chewed on the tip of her quill, deep in thought. _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ lay open on her perfectly made bed. She sat at the foot of the bed, cross-legged, on a deep, green comforter.

_Curses are spells that are intended to cause harm to another individual. They aren't, however, necessarily Dark Magic. It is the intention of the caster that makes the difference._

Hermione looked up from the text slowly, working it over in her mind.

_The intention_.

"Millie?"

The larger dark-haired girl was folded up on her own bed – feet covered in atrocious bright socks that were both fluffy and green – with a quidditch magazine open on her lap.

"Yeah?"

Hermione paused, trying to corral her sluggish thoughts into some semblance of order. "Since you're, well, you know ... pureblood – "

" – Oh, for the love of Merlin, Hermione, _you_ are pureblood." Millie tossed the magazine aside and sat straight on her bed. Her face was hard and serious. "You kept acting as though you're some sort of Mudblood."

Hermione looked over at the girl sharply, feeling strangely as though she should know the term. "A ... what?"

"A Mudblood," said Millie, tossing her hand dismissively. "You know, witches and wizards who have muggle parents."

Hermione froze. _Millie, __I am a witch that has muggle parents_, she longed to say.

"Oh," she muttered instead, very softly. "Well ... I don't really know any different, Millie. I grew up with muggles."

"I know, I know," said Millie, pulling against one sock that had slipped down the length of her leg. "And I feel sorry for you every time I think about it."

"_Millie_ ... " Hermione warned.

They had been over _that_ particular conversation mores times than Hermione cared to remember. For all her convincing, Millie – along with the rest of Slytherin – judged Hermione's parents as superficially as they ever had. No amount of photographs, stories, or first account renditions could sway the bias that was fixed in their minds from the ignorant traditions of their parents.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," said Millie sincerely. "I know it bothers you. I just can't _help_ but feel sorry for you, is all."

Hermione shook her head. "You don't need to feel sorry for me, Millie. And it _does _bother me, so can we please just drop it?"

Millie nodded. "Yeah. Sorry." She pulled again at the excess material of her socks. "Er, what were you asking earlier?"

With a grateful smile at the change of subject, Hermione said, "I was just wondering – since your family and acquaintances must all magical – have you ever actually seen Dark Magic being used before?"

"All the time," Millie smirked. "Mum says her dad used to cast all sorts of nasty jinxes on Uncle Aryle." She chucked. "He was always sneaking out, see? Grandpa figured it was the only way he'd ever learn. And my older cousin, Sophie, casts Bat Bogey Hexes on her little brother whenever she gets the chance. Seen it first hand more times that I care to remember." She gave Hermione a pointed look. "Not a pretty visual to get stuck in your head – trust me."

Hermione grimaced. "No, I don't imagine it is." She paused for a moment. "But you can't get in trouble for using those sort of hexes, can you? I mean, they're mostly harmless, aren't they?"

Millie reached for her quidditch magazine again. "Nah, the Bat Bogey Hex won't get the Ministry coming after you, if that's what you mean. It's not illegal. Just darker in nature, I suppose."

_There are degrees to Dark spells?_

"Well, _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection _doesn't go into specifics," Hermione said peevishly. She shut the book soundly. "I'll have to go see if Madam Pince knows if there's something else I can check out at the library. Professor Quirrell has hardly taught us anything besides keeping our wands with us at all times and how to treat werewolf bites."

Millie flipped through a few pages, not bothering to look up. "It's good advice," she said reasonably.

"It's common _sense_, Millie," Hermione puffed. "There has to be more information out there about the Dark Arts and curses, hexes and jinxes. There obviously is some sort of killing curse – that's what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named used on Harry's parents and Harry, himself! At least _that_ story is in _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century._"

"Ugh," groaned Mille. "Enough about Potter. I'm sick of him and every Gryffindor at the moment – you'd think they'd won the Quidditch World Cup the way they're carrying on about their last win." Her face wrinkled in distaste. "It's disgusting."

Hermione, not caring at all about Quidditch at the moment, rolled her eyes.

* * *

Christmas was coming.

One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself in several inches of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.* That same morning, as Hermione trudged up the castle grounds from the Herbology greenhouses – snow halfway up her calves – she bumped into Harry and Weasley in the Entrance Hall, both snugly wrapped in gold and red scarves.

"Hermione!" Harry called loudly once he spotted her, waving her over. "Still snowing out, huh?"

"Yes," Hermione huffed, stomping her boots against the flagstone to clear the fluffy white powder off. She batted at her hair to brush away the wet snowflakes that clung stubbornly to the bushy mass. "The greenhouses are _freezing. _A few of the plants we were studying _froze_ mid-lesson. Professor Sprout had to cast a warming charm on them just so they'd perk up!"

Weasley grunted under his breath and tightened his scarf.

"Really?" Harry said. "We had Herbology yesterday and Neville somehow managed to freeze part of his trousers to his seat."

Hermione's eyebrows disappeared behind her massive bangs. "How'd he do that?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. We had been watering a few of the fifth-years' O.W.L. projects. Must have spilled the water on himself – well, on his trousers, at least."

Hermione shook her head. "Poor, Neville."

"Neville doesn't need any pity from the likes of Slytherin," Weasley huffed loudly. "Doubtful you actually care at all."

"I happen to like Neville!" Hermione retorted. "I didn't see _you _helping him find his toad on the train when we first arrived to school!"

"Hey!" called Harry loudly, "Enough, eh? I'm sick you two fighting each time you look at one another. Can't you just _try _to be friends?"

"Well, _he _started it," Hermione said. "I, at least, try to be civil."

"Do _not!_" Weasley shouted, stepping forward.

"Do so!"

"OI!" Harry yelled. "Stop it!" He sighed and turned to his ginger-haired friend. "Ron, I'll meat you down at Defense Against the Dark Arts, alright?"

"Yeah, fine," Weasley scowled, pulling his satchel over his shoulder. "Later, Harry."

"He really does start it," Hermione reiterated, once Weasley had disappeared down the corridor.

"Does it matter?" Harry asked wearily. "I thought things would be different after Halloween – after the troll." He shook his head slowly. "If anything, things seem _worse _between you two."

"Don't talk to _me_ about it, Harry," Hermione snapped, her nose in the air. "He's just prejudice because I'm a Slytherin. Honestly, it's ridiculous."

Harry muttered something to himself and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well," said Hermione somewhat bossily, "I'd better go. I've got History of Magic next and need to drop off my Herbology kit."

"Wait a minute," said Harry. He paused for a moment and Hermione looked at him expectantly. "Well, uh, everyone knows your brilliant at school, right? So, I was just wondering if you had ever come across a certain name – "

"What's the name?" Hermione interrupted immediately.

"Nicolas Flamel."

Hermione frowned. "It doesn't sound familiar," she told Harry. "I could research it, though."

"Alright," said Harry. "Will you be going home for the holidays, then?"

"Yes, but we have loads of time to research the name before then. When do your classes end today?"

"We get done with Muggle Studies just after four."

"Perfect," Hermione said brightly. "I'm done with Transfiguration at three o'clock so I'll start a list of things that might help us and different places where we can look." She stopped talking very suddenly and looked over at Harry, tilting her bushy head. "What do you want to know about Nicolas Flamel, anyway? How do you know his name?"

"Hagrid mentioned it accidently," Harry whispered, scooting closer to her as a few students hurried through the Entrance Hall. "He knows about that three-headed dog we saw. He said that Ron and I were meddling in things that weren't our concern."

Hermione looked startled. "How does he know about that dog?"

"It has a name," Harry said. "Fluffy!"

"Fluffy!" Hermione exclaimed loudly. "Who on earth would name that creature – "

"Shhhh!" Harry hushed, grabbing her forearm and pulling her down to the far end of the corridor. "We have to keep it quiet, okay?"

Hermione nodded. "So what did Hagrid say about _Fluffy_?"

"That the blasted thing is his pet, that he bought him off someone in a pub about a year ago."

"A pet!" Hermione stage–whispered. "Oh, of all the .... " She shook her head wordlessly and met Harry's eyes. "Hagrid is a very, very strange man."

"Well, he's gamekeeper, isn't he? There must be all sorts of weird magical animals out there."

"Yes, I suppose," Hermione agreed reluctantly, "though I don't think I'd choose to have one that might kill me for a pet."

"Me neither," said Harry, "but that's not the point. It's a perfect pet for Hagrid or whoever else is involved in this mess because _its guarding something_."

He paused for a long moment as a group of third year Hufflepuffs passed by, laughing and throwing snowballs at each other.

"Ugh, where's a Prefect when you need one?" Hermione complained, nodding in the direction of the boys. "Snowballs inside the school? They should lose points for that."

"Forget it, Hermione. Listen, Hagrid said to forget whatever it is that Fluffy is guarding. He said that it was something between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel."

Hermione's eyes widened. "So Nicolas Flamel is involved – _and _knows Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Well," said Hermione pensively, "that should narrow our research down some. We know that Nicolas Flamel has to be alive, so we won't have to search through all the old archives."

Harry raised a dark eyebrow. "How many archives are there?"

"Haven't you been to the library, Harry? Oh, there are _loads_."

Harry shrugged.

"Meet me there after your class. I'll get a head start."

Harry nodded. "I'm bringing Ron," he warned. "Just so you know."

Hermione, who had started walking away, paused mid-step. She sighed dramatically.

"Fine."

* * *

"Well," said Hermione, her arms crossed over her chest, when Harry and Weasley found her in the library, "this is going to be more difficult than I thought."

"Why?" asked Harry, heaving his bag onto an empty table. The table Hermione was leaning against was covered in books – not leaving an inch of surface area.

"I've gone through dozens of books where I'd thought I'd at least see a reference to ... _his_ name," she said pointedly, nodded over her shoulder at Madam Pince, who was bustling toward one of the shelves behind them, "and I haven't come up with anything."

"We'll just have to look for ourselves, then," said Weasley, throwing his bag down next to Harry's. "What shelves have you been through?"

"You can't just pull books at random, Weasley," Hermione said with little patience. "That would take the entire course of your lifetime to find something relevant."

"Alright," said Ron snobbishly, "where should we look then, since you're so clever?"

Hermione gestured to the table behind her that was cluttered with books. "I've checked _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Notable Magical Names of Our Time, Important Modern Magical Discoveries, _and _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," _she sighed heavily, "I thought, at least, _one_ of those would have something."

Weasley looked around at the library. "Well, what should we do? This place is huge."

Hermione, for once, agreed with him. The library had to contain tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows. It was, to say the least, a daunting prospect.

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "And just so you know, Madam Pince seems to be keeping an eye on me. If you don't want her to know – "

"No," Harry interrupted, "we don't."

"Right," agreed Hermione, "so it's going to be tricky to research without her following us around."

"We can be sneaky," said Weasley confidently. "No one caught us the night we saw Fluffy, at least."

"I wouldn't blab about it out in the open," Hermione scowled, "the walls in this castle have ears, Weasley. Or didn't you know that?"

Weasley puffed quietly to himself as he and Harry set off down an aisle Hermione hadn't yet been down. Hermione, on the other hand, sat at the table where Harry and Ron had thrown their bags, pulled out some ink and parchment, and began writing a list of titles and subjects to search.

About an hour later, Harry and Weasley rejoined her, shaking their heads.

"Nothing," said Harry, rubbing his eyes with his palms. The gesture pushed his glasses onto his forehead. "Ugh, I thought it would be easier than this."

"We've only been looking for _one_ day, Harry," Hermione reminded him kindly. "There are still a lot of different things we can try." She dropped her voice and looked quickly over her shoulder. "Who knows? Maybe Nicolas Flamel is a muggle?"

Harry nodded, though he didn't look convinced.

"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" Hermione asked, making to return her huge stack of books. "I'm leaving tomorrow for the holidays."

"Yeah," promised Harry. "We should have loads of time."

"Good," said Hermione. "Well, have a Happy Christmas – " She reluctantly turned toward Weasley. " – The both of you."

"Yeah," grumbled the ginger-haired boy. "Sure."

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," Harry said.

He and Ron picked up their bags and left the library.

* * *

"Goodwin ... Grand ... Grandfather ... " Hermione murmured quietly to herself, reaching to trace her little fingers over the spines of endless library books. Harry and Ron had left a half hour prior, though she was still returning the books she had borrowed to their proper place.

"Ah, _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century._ Back you go, then."

She heaved the thick tome up to a shelve above her head, standing on tiptoes, struggling to squeeze it back in its rightful home.

"Ugh, just a ... little further – "

"It appears, Miss Granger," came a silky voice from directly behind her, "that you need to grow an inch or two to check out _that _particular text."

Hermione whirled around – nearly dropping the book. "P-professor Snape!" she exclaimed, her body jerking involuntarily.

Her Head of House towered before her, looking down at her over his long, hooked nose.

"Er, how do you do, sir?" Hermione asked, her cheeks burning. "I'm sorry, you startled me."

Professor Snape almost smiled. "An _unfortunate_ talent of mine, Miss Granger."

Hermione rocked back on her heels and nodded. And there in the chilled library, she was suddenly keenly aware that she wasn't certain as to what she should say to him. In the classroom and in their private lessons there were limitless questions to ask. But here, outside the familiar setting, she felt profoundly out of her depth.

"The book, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said crisply, enunciating each word as he reached out for it.

She handed it to him wordlessly.

"Ah," he said, his black eyes scanning the cover as he turned it over in his pale hands. "Reading up on Mr Potter, were you?"

Hermione blushed and shook her head. "No, sir. I – uh, was simply caught up on all of my assignments. I wanted something for a bit of light reading before the holiday."

Professor Snape tilted the text to show her the thickness of it. "Light?" he questioned, almost bemusedly.

She shrugged helplessly. "I like to read."

He looked at her without blinking. "Indeed."

He took a step toward her then, and reached out above her to return the book to its place. His voluminous robes nearly enfolded her. They smelled of pine, of spices.

"I trust your presence is required at home for the holidays," he said once the book had been returned. He had stepped backward carefully. "It is such a – _blessed _– time of year."

"Er, yes, sir."

And then, because it seemed the polite thing to do, she added, "Will you stay at Hogwarts, Professor? Or do you go home, as well?"

A look of infinite sadness swept across his harsh face so quickly Hermione wondered if she had seen it at all.

"Hogwarts," he said sharply, simply.

"Oh," said Hermione. She looked to her hands. "Well, I ... I hope that you have a good holiday, sir." Her brown eyes slowly rose to meet his. "Happy Christmas."

Professor Snape gave her an odd look, but it disappeared almost immediately and he folded his arms, regarding her for a very long, very silent moment.

The very next instant he whirled around and disappeared out of sight, though he muttered something in a strained voice that sounded suspiciously like, "And to you."

* * *

The snow was falling on Christmas Eve.

Severus stared without seeing into the fire of his private quarters – the colorful flames reflecting against his dark eyes.

He was silent. Unmoving. Past caring.

A plate of food sat, untouched, on his desk – brought by a house elf. He couldn't remember the last time he had a proper meal. He didn't care. It didn't matter.

Nothing did.

He closed his eyes and breathed in.

His mind wandered to, of all things, the Potter boy.

_Even my thoughts have no reprieve from the brat, _he thought vehemently.

With long fingers, he picked up a bottle of Ogden's fire whiskey but made no move to drink. How long would the boy stand in need of his protection? The entire course of his miserable, useless life? Or would the Dark Lord make himself known so that he could truly be vanquished and destroyed forever?

Severus closed his eyes and felt weak.

He _had _to hope for that end. If the Dark Lord truly ceased to exist, to be no more, then he, too, would no longer be needed in this dull, empty world. And then, at last, he could seek after his own eminent death.

_The only Christmas gift I would ever ask for_, he thought bitterly. _A blessing to all._

He sighed deeply. The force of his self-directed loathing was palpable and oppressive. A sudden thought struck him, and he felt in that moment as though he had received a punch in the stomach. He wondered that he had never considered it before.

_Would you really, Severus, be able to face Lily in the afterlife and look her in the face after ... everything? Would you be able to look into her beautiful, green eyes and not feel shame? Regret?_

_No, _his thoughts answered immediately. _You'd wish you were buried beneath the tallest mountain in the world. Covered and hidden by the bitter pain and anguish of your rotting soul._

Severus felt something catch in this throat. The thought that he might someday see Lily again racked him with inexpressible horror. The thought that he might _not_ see her again left him feeling little different.

_I cannot live and cannot die_, he thought, harrowed up in the memory of his many sins.

"What _can_ I do?" he asked aloud, in the perfect silence of his quarters.

Not knowing any other course of action, Severus swept out of his chair. He patted his sleeve to be certain his wand resided there comfortably and threw his black cloak over his robes. Without a word he extinguished the fire, secured the wards to his rooms, and made for the main entrance of the castle. He hurried quickly across the grounds, ignoring the light flakes of snow that clung to his cloak, unsure why, exactly, he felt such a strange sense of urgency.

After all, it wasn't as though she were going anywhere.

The very moment he passed beyond the gate and the subsequent protection of the wards, he turned on the spot, and Apparated into the snowy night.

* * *

It was snowing harder still when Severus arrived at Godric's Hollow.

He stood for a moment in a snowy lane, feeling the familiar protest of his heart kicking up against his chest. It occurred each time he visited the little village. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows.* Severus felt nothing whatsoever for the Christmas cheer, but looked ahead, instead, to the glow of golden streetlights that indicated the center of the village ahead of him.

The icy air stung his face as he passed the cottages. He had taken only a moment to cast a disillusion charm on himself. If someone was watching closely, they'd see footprints in the snow without a companion to accompany them.

Severus, unsurprisingly, didn't care.

A carol had started up inside the little church and the singing grew louder as Severus approached and crossed the street. The kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard opened more quietly than he remembered, and he closed it carefully behind him.

The snow on the little pathway was deep and untouched, though it scarcely mattered – Severus would have made for his destination if it were a rolling river of lava. He knew the path well. Could navigate it with his eyes blindfolded, he was certain. This time, however, he took a different path than he was accustomed to. He weaved through the various rows of tombstones until he came to a dark, small stone.

KENDRA DUMBLEDORE, it read, AND HER DAUGHTER ARIANA

_Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.*_

Severus stared silently at the little stone thinking, for once, of Albus' pain, of what he would surely see in the Mirror of Erised.

Severus knew only pieces of the story that was Albus' past – though he knew enough to where it wasn't difficult to complete the puzzle. Severus didn't care to dwell on it. His own grief and anger outweighed the pity he felt for his mentor.

It mattered little, he supposed, though he keenly felt something for Albus in that moment as he stared down at the grave of his mother and sister. He lingered awhile longer with his breath steaming in the chilled air, nodding once to the grave, and then turned to make his way to the place he considered most sacred in all the world.

The white marble blended in with the snow. As pure as she ever was, though never as brilliant.

His dark eyes immediately sought the right side of the stone – expertly trained to avoid Potter's name; though, he knew, if he were truly honest with himself, he _did_ feel some guilt there. It wasn't the crippling or exquisitely painful guilt he felt for the name on the right, but it was – no matter his denial – there.

Severus read the words slowly, eyes scanning every last letter – though every detail, every dip in the marble had long since been memorized.

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.*_

Living beyond death. Living after death.

Severus stared. There was a chilled breeze, and it nipped at his ears and bit at the exposed skin of his wrists and face as though trying to get in. The breeze wound up his robes, touched his cheek, and chilled him where tears had left wetness.

Overcome, he dropped to his knees. Bowed his head.

For a long moment he simply knelt in the snow, too numb and deadened to do anything else. Flecks of snow fell and pattered against his black cloak, seemingly desperate to cling to anything. Severus reached out with a shaky hand, lifting his slumped shoulders, and reverently traced Lily's name with his fingertips.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

No matter the arguments his mind created, he desperately longed to speak with her in truth, to have just _one_ moment, to be with her.

He wanted to tell her how her last act in this life resonated from the dead, and when all living things were dimmed by winter and darkness, the world still knew her – still knew what she had done for her son. He wanted to look into her beautiful, beautiful eyes one last time, to embrace her, to smell her hair.

But the Lily he knew and remembered ... she wasn't here in this cold, lonely place. The bones or dust beneath his kneeling, stooped form were as indifferent to him as to a tree. It didn't matter, though. This ground was sacred. Hallowed. And it would remain that way in Severus' mind until he sucked down his last, dying breath.

Oh, that he could be sleeping under the snow next to her! That he could hold her delicate hand, feel of her palpable grace.

But it was not to, and would never be. And Severus knew it.

The moon was low, almost invisible behind the stormy clouds, but its faint light seemed to brush the top of the tombstone.

"Lily," whispered Severus.

He didn't know why he did it. How to explain it, to rationalize it, he wasn't sure. But Severus felt oddly compelled to speak her name each time he visited the hallowed place – perhaps he was listening for the resonance of an echo, of a voice that once was so softly and beautifully spoken, like the voice of the sea from a shell.

"Lily," said Severus.

He took a deep, sharp gulp of the night air, trying to steady himself, to regain control. But he knew better. In this space, in this graveyard, he never could master his emotions.

Severus leaned forward and rested his forehead on the arch of the tombstone as the sobs racked his body. His long fingers curled around the sides of the stone, gripping the frozen marble like a man would a very lifeline. The tears stung his icy face.

"I'm here, Lily," said Severus.

His black hair fell forward as his head bowed and he sobbed until he was certain he could cry no more.

"I'm ... here."

* * *

"Hermione!" Draco shouted happily from the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. "Over here!" He waved her over. "Have a good holiday?"

Hermione smiled and walked quickly over to him. The hall still looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.*

"It was brilliant!" Hermione said breathlessly. "So wonderful to see my parents. How was yours?"

The blond boy was focused on finishing a chicken leg. "Fine, of course," he drawled. "Father gave me a new broom to practice with this summer – along with loads of other presents. I didn't have enough room in my trunk to bring them all. He also let mother decorate one of the wings of the Manor. She was quite happy with that – had been bothering him for ages about redesigning it."

"_Wings_?" Hermione echoed. "How big _is _your house, Draco?"

Draco looked up from the feast, a pleased smirk on his pale face. "It's – "

" – Loads bigger than your house, I'm sure," Pansy interrupted snobbishly. "Draco has a whole wing to himself, don't you?"

Draco shrugged. "It's not as though father needs it."

"Well," said Hermione, "I'm sure it's lovely. Uh," she hesitated, wanting nothing more than to change the subject, "either of you seen Millie yet? I haven't seen her since I arrived."

"Down in the common room," Draco offered, reaching for a tall glass of Pumpkin Juice. "She got here earlier this morning."

"Ah," said Hermione. "Well, I suppose I'll see you both later, then."

"Yeah," said Draco. "See you."

Pansy snorted.

Walking towards the dungeons, Hermione couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed in herself for not finding any new information about Nicolas Flamel over the holiday break. She was now readily convinced he wasn't a muggle – as a brief search on her parent's computer resulted in no matches.

Pulling her robes more tightly around her midsection, lost in her thoughts on how to begin a new research stratagem, Hermione was mildly startled to nearly run into Professor Snape as she dropped to the first step descending into the dungeons. He was coming from up the stairs, and though he was several steps below her, they currently stood at the same height.

"Professor Snape!" said Hermione. All thoughts of Nicolas Flamel instantly fled her mind. "Er, how are you, sir? Did you ... did you have a good holiday?"

Professor Snape sneered disdainfully. "It was no different than from any previous holiday, Miss Granger."

"Oh," Hermione blushed, uncertain as to what she should say. "Well, I hope it was enjoyable ... that is, I hope you had a nice break."

Professor Snape simply stared at her.

"I would like you in my office this evening, Miss Granger," he said at length. "Eight o'clock, if you please, to discuss the time of your private lessons this term."

"Er, yes, sir. Certainly."

He nodded. "Until then, Miss Granger."

"Good evening, sir."

* * *

Hermione's hopes that Harry and Weasley had found something about Nicolas Flamel were dashed rather quickly.

"No," said Harry grumpily when she saw him the first day back to class. "Ron and I really did look. It's odd, though. I could _swear _that I've read Flamel's name before. It seems weirdly familiar."

"Well," said Hermione, as the three of them made their way up the stairs toward the library, "he's not a muggle. The internet didn't have any results for him."

"The inter – _what_?" asked Weasley, his face scrunched up.

"The internet," said Hermione. "It's a muggle system where you can look up all sorts of information just by typing in a few key words on a computer."

"What's a computer?"

"Never mind, Ron," Harry jumped in irritably. "It's a muggle thing – I'll explain later. We only have a few minutes to search the library before we all have class, so we'd better hurry up. I don't want to be late to McGonagall's class and lose House points again."

As they scaled the stairs, Weasley pulled a chocolate frog from his bag. He unwrapped it eagerly with clumsy fingers, turning the Famous Wizard Card over in his hand.

"Damn," he cursed. "Dumbledore again. I've got about six of him."

Harry nodded beside him. "Yeah, he was the first one I ever – "

He gasped. He snatched the card from Weasley's hands and stared at the back of it. Then he looked up at Weasley and Hermione.

"I've found him!*" he whispered. "I've found Flamel! I _told_ you I read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here – listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, _and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel!_"*

Hermione dropped her satchel. She hadn't felt so excited since they'd gotten back the marks for their very first piece of homework.*

"Come on!" she said, and began sprinting up the final few stairs. "I think I know which book we need!"

Mystified, Harry and Weasley rushed after her, barreling through the double oak doors of the library to the utter dismay of Madam Pince, who immediately demanded silence.

The boys waited eagerly by an empty table until Hermione dashed toward them, an enormous old book in her arms.

"I never thought to look in here!*" she whispered excitedly. She threw the tome down on the table and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself.

At last she found what she was looking for.

"I knew it! _I knew it!*_"

"Knew what?" Weasley asked grumpily.

Hermione ignored him. "Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the _only known maker of the Socerer's Stone!_"*

This didn't quite have the effect she'd expected.*

"The what?" said Harry and Weasley.

"Oh, _honestly_, don't you two read? Look – read that, there.*"

She pushed the book toward them, and Harry and Weasley read:

_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.*_

_There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).*_

"See?" said Hermione, when Harry and Weasley had finished. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone removed out of Gringotts!"*

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" said Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! _Anyone _would want it."*

"It's _Professor _Snape, Harry," corrected Hermione, "and you don't know at all if it's him. You just said that _anyone _would want it."

"Yeah, yeah," said Harry dismissively. "You have your theory, Hermione, and I have mine. But this is it, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said confidently. "I'm certain that's what Fluffy is guarding."

"Well," said Weasley, "a bloke is over six hundred years old and can turn things into gold from the little thing. I'd say Fluffy's got his work cut out for him."

* * *

The next Quidditch match of the season was with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, so Hermione didn't feel any regret when she chose to revise her Charm's essay while the majority of Slytherin went to cheer for the yellow team.

There wasn't, after all, anyone from Slytherin she was failing to support by not going.

Later that evening in the Main Hall, after hearing Draco and Pansy both complain about Gryffindor's victory, Harry and Weasley both honed in on Hermione as she stood to leave the table.

"It'll only be a minute," Harry promised her, when she frowned at him. "I promise."

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked with folded arms, after Harry and Weasley had practically thrown her into an empty classroom on the main floor. "Couldn't it have waited until – "

"Snape's after the Stone, Hermione," said Harry breathlessly. "And he's trying to get Quirrell to help him."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment. "Harry," she said patiently, "I know you don't like Professor Snape, but that's hardly any reason to accuse him of – "

"Hermione!" Harry shouted. "Would you listen to me? I _heard_ Snape and _saw _him talking to Quirrell with my own eyes after the match tonight!"

"And don't say that he's got bad eyes, either!" puffed Weasley, pointing to Harry's glasses.

Hermione looked back and forth between the two boys, bewildered. "What – what did you hear?"

"Snape mentioned the Stone specifically," said Harry, running a hand through his dark hair. "And he asked Quirrell if he knew how to get past Fluffy and something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus'."

Hermione looked at him. "Hocus Pocus? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. An owl hooted – it scared me, I couldn't hear the rest of what Snape said. I didn't want to get caught."

They stood in silence.

"You can't deny it, Granger," said Weasley. "Snape's after the Stone."

Hermione looked to the floor. "I don't understand ... " she muttered. "It – it _can't_ be."

"It's probably hard to hear," said Harry, more quietly now, "since he's your Head of House and all, but it's true. I know what I heard."

Hermione shook her head, suddenly feeling as though she needed to sit down.

"Can't you do something?" Weasley asked. "Try to stop him?"

Hermione glared up at him. "And what would you have me do, Weasley?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Try to trick him into telling you something? You're a Slytherin, after all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey!" interrupted Harry. "Easy, now! Just keep an eye on him, Hermione. Let us know if you see anything off about him. If he makes trips to the third floor corridor, that sort of thing. That's all we're asking."

"_If _Professor Snape is after the stone, I doubt he'd be thick enough to try and get it when a _student_ could see him."

"Just keep your eyes open," Harry sighed. "Please?"

Hermione stared at her hands numbly, without blinking. What did Harry's story mean, any of it? True, she trusted Harry, but didn't he hate Professor Snape? Was it possible that Harry was seeing only what he _wanted _to see?

She slowly followed Harry and Weasley out of the classroom, suddenly unsure of ... well, everything. Logically, her mind told her that _if _Professor Snape in fact _was_ trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone, then Professor Dumbledore needed to know about it. But she needed more information, that much she was certain of.

That, and the thought of tattling on Professor Snape made her sick.

"Maybe," Weasley was saying to Harry as they made their way toward the Main Entrance, "we should go ask Hagrid if he knows anything more. I know its late, but if we tell him we know about the Sorcerer's Stone, that Snape's trying to steal it, he's bound to tell us everything!"

Harry considered this. "It's not a bad idea." He turned to Hermione. "You coming then, Hermione?"

"What?" she asked dazedly.

"I said, are you coming with us to Hagrid's?"

"What for?"

Weasley rolled his eyes. "Haven't you been listening, Granger? Or are you deaf? To see if he'll tell us more about the Stone! Maybe he knows something more about Snape trying to steal it!"

That idea appealed to her infinitely more than going to the Headmaster's office to tell him one of his professor's might be trying to steal something that she likely wasn't supposed to know existed.

"What time is it?" she asked nervously.

"Doesn't matter," said Harry, pulling a blanket out of his bag. "We won't get caught with this."

"What is it?"

"It's an Invisibility Cloak," said Weasley. "Harry got it back at Christmas."

"Wow," said Hermione, once the two boys had disappeared beneath the cloak. "Yes, I'm definitely coming."

* * *

The curtains were closed at Hagrid's hut.

"Is he home?" Hermione asked quietly. "How late is it?"

Weasley climbed the steps and pounded on the door. "We'll find out, won't we?"

Hagrid called, "Who is it?" before he let them in, and shut the door quickly behind them.

It was stifling hot inside. Hagrid made them tea and offered them stoat sandwiches, which they refused.*

"So – what brings yeh three here?" Hagrid asked.

"We wanted to ask you something," said Harry. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Stone apart from Fluffy."*

Hagrid frowned at him.*

"O' course I can't," he said. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I would'n tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringott's – I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."*

Hermione's curiosity was piked.

"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you _do _know, you know everything that goes on around here,*" she said in a warm, flattering voice.

Harry smiled at her appraisingly.

"We only wondered who had _done_ the guarding, really," she went on. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."*

Hagrid's beard twitched, and Hermione could tell that he was smiling.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that ... let's see .. he borrowed Fluffy from me ... then some o' the teachers did enchantments ... *"

"Who?" Hermione demanded. "Who did the enchantments?"

"Professor Sprout – Professor Flitwick – Professor McGonagall – " he ticked them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell – an' Dumbledore himself did somethin' o' couse. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."*

"_Snape?_"*

"I knew it!" Hermione cried happily, pushing back from her seat and jumping to her feet. "I knew that Professor Snape wasn't trying to steal the Stone!"

"Yeah – yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped _protect_ the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."*

"But why would he be trying to get past Fluffy?" Weasley demanded, looking over at Hermione. "Harry knows what he heard, Granger."

"Maybe he didn't hear _everything_. Harry said it himself that an owl scared him and he couldn't hear the rest of the conversation, didn't you Harry?"

But Harry was already asking Hagrid another question.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren't you, Hagrid?" he asked anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"*

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," said Hagrid proudly.*

"Well, that's something," Harry muttered to them. "Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling.*"

Hermione glanced at the fire.

"Hagrid – what's _that_?"

In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.*

"Ah," said Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, "That's – er ... *"

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Weasley, crouching over the fire to get a close look at the egg. "It must've cost you a fortune.*"

"Won it," said Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.*"

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?*" said Hermione.

"Well – "

"Hagrid, you live in a _wooden _house,*" she said.

The giant man didn't seem to be concerned in the slightest. He hummed merrily to himself as he stoked the fire. "I think it's time to take it out," was all he said, pulling on a giant pair of oven gloves to get the kettle off. Hagrid let it cool for a moment and then carefully picked the egg up and placed it on the desk.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "there's a deep crack in the side, just there." She pointed with her index finger, bending to take a closer look.

"Bless me!" exlaimed Hagrid, "it's hatching!"

"What do we do?" asked Harry.

"Jus' wait," said Hagrid, though he appeared slightly flushed.

Hermione, who had come to learn that one of Weasley's brothers cared for dragons in Romania, whispered quietly to the ginger-haired boy, "Is that true?"

Weasley shrugged. "Search me. Charlie's never talked about any being born before."

Several moments later they could see movement coming from inside the egg, and heard strange clicking noises.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table.*

Hermione could scarcely believe her eyes.

"Isn't he _beautiful_?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs.*

"Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!*" said Hagrid.

"Hagrid," said Hermione, "how fast do dragons grow, exactly?*"

Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face – he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.*

"What is it?"

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains – it's a kid – he's runnin' back up ter the school.*"

Hermione, Weasley, and Harry bolted to the door and looked out. The boy had already put a fair distance between them.

"It's Malfoy!" Weasley moaned, squinting into the darkness. "Even in the dark I can see his big, white head! Oh, we'll never catch him! He'll tell someone that Hagrid's got a dragon and that we're out of the school after hours! It'll be _weeks_ of detention!"

"After hours?" Hermione repeated dumbly, shocked that she had lost track of the time. "Oh, no ... " she moaned. "The portal to my common room will be locked!"

"Draco!" she yelled, making to run up the slope after him. "Draco! No – stop!"

"The git can't hear you!" Harry called dejectedly after her. "And there's no way we'll catch him now."

"I'm going after him," Hermione said with determination, whirling around to stare at the two boys. "He's going to get _all _of us in trouble, and if Professor Snape finds out that I've broken another rule – he'll kill me."

"Literally," Weasley agreed. "I've heard there's a graveyard in the Forbidden Forest packed with all the students he's killed."

"Oh, shut it, Weasley," Hermione puffed, annoyed. "Are you two going to help me, or not?"

"Yeh can't catch him now," Hagrid said sullenly behind them. His eyes were misty. "Norbert will be taken fer certain!" he moaned.

"Norbert?" Harry asked.

"I named him jus' now," Hagrid sobbed, batting at his eyes. "Needed o' name, didn' he?"

Hermione shook her head. "Come _on_!" she called impatiently. "We have to hurry!"

Weasley and Harry followed her, running up the dark slope of the grounds until they reached the castle entrance. Doubled over, hands clutching a stitch in her side, Hermione looked around wildly for where Draco might have gone.

"He may ... have gone ... to the dungeons," she breathed, eyes wincing. "I'll ... check there. You two ... run up to Dumbledore's office – "

To the right of her, a lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and hairnet, had Draco by the ear.*

Hermione stared. Just how late _was _it?

"Detention!" she shouted. "And fifty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you – "*

"You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter's coming – he's got a dragon!*"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies – "

But at that moment, Professor McGonagall looked up and saw the three of them. Her grip on Draco's ear must have tightened, for Draco began to whimper pathetically.

"_Explain yourselves_," she said darkly.

It was the first time Hermione had failed to answer a teacher's question.*

"I think I've got a good idea of what's been going on," said Professor McGonagall. "It doesn't take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble.* I've already caught and given him a detention."

"I'm disgusted," Professor McGonagall continued. "Four students out of bed in one night! I've never heard of such a thing before! You, Miss Granger, I though you had more sense. As for you, Mr Potter, I thought Gryffindor meant more to you than this. All three of you will receive detentions for this. _Nothing_ gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it's very dangerous – and fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor.*"

"_Fifty?_" Harry gasped.

"Fifty points _each*,_" said Professor McGonagall. "And that goes for you and Slytherin, Miss Granger."

"Professor," she tried to explain – Draco was still wincing by the pressure of the older woman's fingers on his ear.

"Professor McGonagall," said Harry, "You can't – "

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all of you.*"

At last, she let go of Draco's ear, and marched toward the main staircase, the flame of her lantern following her.

"Well, now you've done it," Hermione snapped at Draco, "Feel better? You got us _both_ a detention and lost Slytherin _one hundred _points! And you _know _it will be nothing compared to how angry Professor Snape will be with us!"

"I didn't know you were there! How was I supposed to know?" Draco said, rubbing his ear. "I just saw Potter and Weasley!"

"Was it so important to tattle on them?" she shrieked. "My hands can't stand another detention, Draco! The scouring pad nearly rubbed them raw last time!"

"Yeah, thanks a bunch, Malfoy," Harry muttered darkly. "Goes to show that you don't always get away with being a slimy git, eh?"

"Yeah, sod off," Weasley piped in. "I don't care if I ever see your ugly face ever again, Malfoy!"

"Likewise, Weasley!"

"I'm going to bed," Hermione said, walking away. "I'm not going to sit and listen to this."

"Hey, wait," called Draco, trailing after her. "Wait up, Hermione!"

Hermione said nothing, plunging down the spiral staircase in complete silence.

"We won't be able to get into the common room," said Draco, once they had reached the dungeons.

"I know that," growled Hermione. She turned down the corridor that led to Professor Snape's private quarters.

"What were you doing with Weasley and Potter anyway?" Draco asked, checking the back of his earlobe for blood. "If you'd stop trying to make nice with Gryffindor, you wouldn't have been in this mess."

She stopped walking and rounded on him. "Why do you even care, Draco? What's Gryffindor ever done to you?"

"They're all a bunch of slick gits!"

Hermione shook her head angrily and resumed walking. She rounded the corner quickly and paused in front of the tapestry of the Hogwarts' grounds. "You know what, Draco? You're just like Weasley – only the opposite. You hate people just because they're in Gryffindor and he hates people just because they're in Slytherin. It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of!"

"Don't compare me to Weasley," Draco warned, once he had caught up to her. "That poor rat can't afford to buy – "

But Draco stopped himself mid-sentence as the tapestry ripped in half and the wall gave way behind it. A door swung inward. And just as suddenly as Hermione had been alone in the corridor with Draco, her Head of House stepped from the door, towering over the pair of them. He looked downward and Hermione had to make a serious effort not to recoil. His harsh face was twisted up with such rage that she nearly stumbled backward.

"Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger," he said softly. Hermione didn't move. She felt certain that she knew, by now, the tone of _that_ particular voice – and it was dangerous.

She couldn't meet his eyes.

"You will both follow me," he said, his voice frighteningly cold. And then he whirled around and disappeared abruptly through the doorway.

"We're dead," said Draco numbly, looking at the space Professor Snape had just occupied.

For a fleeting moment Hermione wanted to contradict Draco. And then, just as quickly as that madness had come and gone, she regained control of her faculties.

"Yeah," she muttered, stepping over the threshold, "we are."

* * *

_A/N: Don't hate me. Please. This chapter was oddly difficult to write. I spent ages on Snape in Godric's Hollow and still am not fully satisfied with the result. Ah ... the joys of writing. Important note: For info on chapter updates, I will be updating my livejournal account (h t t p lizard25 dot livejournal dot com ... this link is also on my profile page here at ffnet ... though I can't figure out how to make it an actual blue link - help, anyone?) so as to keep everyone in the loop of how each chapter is coming along._

_Also, I'd like to apologize that I used so many quotes from PS. I don't particularly want to follow the books verbatim, though somehow it worked to be that way for this chapter - or at least, that's what it felt like for me. Obviously, anything quoted from the section where Snape was in Godric's Hollow is quoted from DH, not PS._

_Again, I apologize for my delay, though I hope everyone is having a wonderful December. I love Christmas. This time of year is incredible. I live in the Rockies and we just got a fresh batch of snow, so I'm feeling the Christmas 'feel' right now. Love it. I hope you all, regardless of religion, have a wonderful holiday season._

_-Liz_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**

* * *

  
**

The room was dark.

Professor Snape had his back to them. Hermione couldn't decide if that was necessarily a good sign or not.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Her skin was crawling.

And he was silent, apart from his heavy breathing. Hermione saw the rise and fall of his shoulders and wondered if he was physically restraining himself – or if he was merely stilling himself, preparing to spring into action.

"Idiot children!" he finally hissed and whirled on them. Hermione backed toward the door. "What were you thinking?"

Draco looked as though he were about to pout. He stepped forward. "Sir, if you'd just listen – "

"You have _no_ excuse for your behavior," Professor Snape growled, stalking toward them. "There is no ambiguity in the House rules, nor by those set by Professor Dumbledore. Students are not to be wandering the halls at night – as such, you have no legitimate reason to be standing in my quarters at present!"

Again, Draco began to protest. "But sir – "

" – We have no excuse, Professor," Hermione interrupted him, guided by some half–blind intuition. She hung her head low. "You – you have a right to be angry with us."

Draco shot her a furious glare, looking as though she had committed some sort of inexplicable betrayal.

"Sir, it was Potter," Draco tried again, " there was a dragon and – "

"Get out!" Professor Snape snapped, whirling on the boy. "OUT, Draco! I do not care if you _are _your father's son, you will learn to mind your tongue in my presence – twenty points from Slytherin and a week of detention!"

Draco swallowed and scurried back with surprising speed to the door. He hesitated slightly. "Um, sir? The ... uh, the portal hole – "

" – _Will be opened_," Professor Snape ground out though clenched teeth. Hermione flinched. He seemed half-mad with fury.

And then, as the door closed behind Draco, Hermione stood alone with her Head of House.

She blinked slowly, unsure of how long she should remain quiet. For the time being, at least, silence seemed the best course of action.

Professor Snape stalked over to the hearth and wordlessly fed the fire with his wand, giving added warmth to the dark room.

"I confess I am at a loss, Miss Granger," he said very quietly after a long moment, turning with deliberate slowness to face her, "as to what I am to do with you."

For a brief second, Hermione thought he had calmed some. Then she caught a strange flash of naked, unbridled fury in his black eyes. _Not so calm after all_.

She stood there in silence, thinking of all the different things she could say.

"Would you care, Miss Granger," he snarled in a low voice, "to explain why, yet _again_, you have insisted on violating Slytherin's rules?"

She hesitated. Somehow, telling him that she had gone with Harry and Weasley to visit Hagrid to determine if, in fact, _he_ was the one trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone seemed a little blunt.

Then again, telling the truth was always easier in the long run – or so her mum had said.

She picked up a little courage. "I wanted to find out some – er, information."

"And you felt a late night jaunt to the library was in order?" Professor Snape sneered. "A likely story."

She shook her head. "No, sir. I wanted to learn more about ... about the Sorcerer's Stone." She was mildly surprised when she finished, by how frightened her voice sounded.

He stiffened abruptly and Hermione took a small step backward, bracing herself. His dark eyes were very focused. She couldn't see any shift in his body at all.

"I suggest you explain yourself, Miss Granger," he snapped, searching her for guilt, hesitation, a handle, "or you _will_ find yourself not only expelled from _this _institution, but I will _personally_ see to it that every magical school known to wizardkind will not so much as look at you." He conjured a hard, wooden chair and advanced so quickly that Hermione fell back into it before she could blink.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her robes, hoping he hadn't seen them shaking. She drew in a deep breath and looked down at her boots, covered in mud from the castle grounds. Professor Snape stepped closer, looking horribly menacing.

"Sir, well, I – " she faltered for a moment, wetting her lips with her tongue. She couldn't meet his eyes; she was trembling with her own foolishness. But then she gathered the little courage she had, and told him everything.

She told him about Fluffy, how she – along with Weasley and Harry – had only managed to escape that night with their lives. She told him about Harry, about his theories and all that he had seen and heard. Her cheeks reddened when she told him how she had defended him to the others, how she had tried and ultimately failed. And lastly, she told him about Hagrid, how he didn't seem to know any better, how he had accidentally told Harry about Nicolas Flamel.

Professor Snape stood perfectly still. Hermione wondered if he was still breathing.

"Harry was the one who made the connection between Nicolas Flamel and Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said in a soft whisper, looking down miserably at her entwined fingers. "Sir, I didn't – I didn't know what to think." She closed her eyes and then opened them on him, looking up at him for the first time since she had begun speaking. "Once we knew about the Stone, I just .... I didn't _want_ to believe what Harry was telling me."

Professor Snape wasn't looking at her. He didn't appear to be looking at anything in particular. After a long moment, he allowed himself a cruel smile.

"So, Potter thinks me evil." He seemed almost amused by the prospect.

"Sir?"

He looked down at her abruptly, blinking as though he had genuinely forgotten she was there. His eyes narrowed.

Hermione swallowed. "I'm–I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to disobey the rules. I only wanted to find out if what Harry said about you was ... well, true."

"And you took no thought to simply _ask_ me?" His voice was incredulous.

She hung her head, ashamed. "I _am _sorry, sir. I know I was in the wrong."

Professor Snape hissed through his teeth. "And _yet_," he let his words hang dangerously in the air, "you deliberately disobeyed school rules. Tell me, Miss Granger, what is it that is stopping me from personally recommending your immediate expulsion from this school? How many chances do you require before you are seriously injured or even _killed_? Do you not realize the severity of the situation you are currently in? Wandering around after hours, idiot girl, inviting – no, practically _begging_ – for trouble? You have a shred of intelligence, girl, use it!"

He turned away from her then, and with a new fear literally shaking her, Hermione found herself stepping forward and grabbing the back of his cloak. It was an outrageous thing to do. Her hand shook on the heavy cloth as if it would burn her. He stopped without turning, the firelight gleaming off the strands of his black hair.

"I'm s-sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean for any of it to happen. Harry said you were trying to steal the Stone and that Hagrid knew more about it." Her voice was steady, almost to the end, and then she heard it tremble. "I only wanted to find out if it was true."

Professor Snape was silent above her. After a long moment, he said, without turning around, "And what did your instincts tell you, Miss Granger?"

She answered immediately, dropping her hand. "That Harry was wrong. That you weren't trying to steal anything. That you were protecting the Stone." Her heart was pounding so loudly, she was certain he could hear it.

"Ah," he said with feigned politeness. "Perhaps you ought to have acted on said instincts, Miss Granger, as you would now be safe in your bed had you listened to them, and not currently dealing with the consequences of such foolhardy judgment."

She winced and thrust her hands into her robe pockets once more, hugging herself as though she were cold. He turned again to face her.

"For reasons unknown to me, you seem to feel that recklessness and stupidity – traits I generally associate with those in Gryffindor House – are something you wish to attain."

"No, sir. I don't – "

"No interruptions," he snapped. "Regardless of your _intentions_, Miss Granger, the likelihood of your demise increases each and every time you flout the school rules – which, I might add, have been designed specifically for _your safety_."

She blinked and looked up at him, inexplicably disappointed in herself.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean any harm."

"That is immaterial," he said in a low tone. He stepped back and straightened, without taking his eyes off her. "Of all the foolish, headstrong, idiotic things to do, Miss Granger, wandering the halls and grounds alone is the crowning act of stupidity. And now, not only you, but your entire House will reap the consequences of such an irresponsible decision!"

Hermione ducked her head, too mortified to look at him directly. She knew he was watching her; waiting, perhaps, for an answer.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself, girl?"

She hesitated. "I don't know what I should say," she admitted quietly, rubbing her face. "I know that I was wrong. I know I broke the rules. I – it won't happen again, sir."

He almost laughed. "Hope springs eternal, Miss Granger."

It was silent for an impossibly long moment. The fire crackled and pulsed in the hearth.

"Sir," Hermione ventured, wondering how far she should push her luck; and then she decided, _very far_ – "you still ... well, you never really said either way if you were trying to – to take the Stone or not."

"And nor shall I," he said with a disgusted sneer. "Your apparently insatiable curiosity for all things which _do not concern you_ will be every bit a part of your punishment as your future detentions – which we have yet to discuss."

She hung her head dully. "Oh."

"Indeed," he said with a scowl. "And said detentions will be discussed at another time. It may not have occurred to that _talented _brain of yours, girl, but some of us _do _value their sleep." There was no humor in his voice, where there might have been from another man. "I shall escort you to the common room. You, along with Mr Malfoy, will arrive at my office at eight tomorrow morning to discuss your punishment. You will not be late."

She nodded without protest. "Yes, Professor."

He swept toward the door with an odd sort of gracefulness. "Come, then."

"Sir," Hermione said, as she stood from the chair and made to follow, "why – why did you dismiss Draco and not me? I don't understand."

He held the door and gestured her forward. "Don't be absurd, Miss Granger. Whatever your faults may be – and I have been recently made aware they are, indeed, a great many – you, at the very least, know when to admit them."

She walked past him in silence and through the narrow tunnel until she emerged into the empty, cold corridor. The torches on the wall flickered indifferently.

"Mr Malfoy, it seems," Professor Snape continued in a low growl, circumventing her and taking the lead, "has yet to learn when to keep his overly large mouth shut."

She scurried to keep up with him.

"And it is ... ah, _quite_ regretfully forbidden for any teacher to hex or curse a student."

Hermione's brown eyes widened incredulously, and she jogged so that they walked side-by-side. She looked up at him. "You were going to – to hex Draco?"

Professor Snape merely smirked and walked faster.

"I don't believe you," she got out, and then winced as her voice cracked.

"I suspect you will believe whatever you choose, Miss Granger," he said stiffly. "After all, you were acting as such when you deemed it necessary to violate nearly every school rule in existence earlier this evening."

She stopped short for a moment, and then had to run to catch up.

Eventually they arrived at the trapdoor in the wall that led to the common room. Professor Snape muttered a charm and moved his ebony wand in an elaborate figure eight motion that unlocked the wards to the door. Hermione looked at the air between them, marveling at the magic pulsing in the silent space.

"Eight o' clock tomorrow morning, Miss Granger," Professor Snape reminded her, sounding utterly disgusted. "Rest assured if you are even one _second _late, every free moment you have during the remainder of this school year will be spent with Mr Filch." He almost seemed amused when he continued, "I assure you he does not lack creativity when it comes to disciplinary methods."

Hermione swallowed and averted her eyes. "Yes, sir."

* * *

"Draco!" Hermione yelled, cupping her mouth with her little hands. "Draco, you better get out here straightaway or I'm leaving without you!"

She tapped her foot impatiently against the flagstone floor in the common room.

"Quiet, eh?" a seventh-year girl said from a nearby sofa. The girl looked up from an incredibly thick book with a deep scowl on her face. "Some of us are _trying_ to study."

"Sorry," Hermione muttered, scooting closer to the entrance of the boy's dormitories. She fell into a momentary silence, completely annoyed, looking down for a moment and then up around the common room. Though the weather had relented somewhat from winter's harsh bite, the fireplace still roared steadily, warming the chilled room.

And it occurred to Hermione, irrelevantly, as she stared blankly into the flickering flames that she would never forgive Draco if he made her tardy.

She scowled a moment later when she didn't hear anything from beyond the wall and took a deep breath to stage-whisper up into the post and lintel of the doorway. "If you think, Draco, that I'm going to spend the rest of the term with Mr Filch just because you can't get yourself out of bed – well, you can forget it!"

And then she turned on her heel to leave, marching emphatically toward the portal.

And suddenly Draco was there, stumbling into the common room from the boy's dormitories, sleep still in his eyes, tie hanging loosely around his neck. "For Merlin's sake, I'm coming, Hermione. Lay off it, will you?"

Hermione stopped abruptly and whirled on him, her index finger mere inches from his startled face. "I will not _lay off it_. If you want to have detention with Mr Filch until summer you go right ahead, but I don't! Professor McGonagall has _already_ given us a detention and I'm not about to be late for our meeting with Professor Snape just because you didn't get your_beauty sleep._" She tossed her bushy hair over her shoulder as she approached the entrance, not bothering to look back to see if he were following.

"You're too uptight," Draco said from somewhere behind her. "Have a little fun, will you?"

Hermione hurried faster through the dungeons. "Have _fun_?" she nearly laughed, her voice shrill. "You're the reason we're even in this mess! All because you just had to try and get Harry into trouble." She snorted as she rounded the bend, sounding disgusted.

"Potter deserved it!" Draco shouted, rushing to catch her up. He fiddled with clumsy fingers at the knot of his tie, doing his best to straighten it. "Just because he's the bloody _Boy-Who-Lived,_ he thinks he can walk around Hogwarts like he owns it!"

Hermione whirled on him. "Harry doesn't think that at all!"

"Yes he does!" Draco said. "He breaks all the rules and still the teachers practically worship him! It's pathetic! He gets to have a broom, be on his House team," he ticked each complaint off on his fingers, his voice almost anguished," – what other first year in the history of Hogwarts has been able to do that, Hermione?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but something made her stop short, and she snapped it shut, hearing her teeth click.

"See!" Draco said, pointing at her wildly. "Even _you_ admit it!"

"I didn't admit anything," Hermione said carefully, following the dungeon corridor toward Professor Snape's office.

"You know I'm right."

"If you don't stop talking, we're going to be late."

"You're just trying to change the subject. Everyone loves _Saint Potter_," he said bitterly, "including you."

Hermione sighed. "I know it's not fair, but Harry doesn't ask for special treatment, Draco." She shrugged. "It ... just sort of happens."

"Oh," he snapped. "And that makes it right?"

"No," Hermione relented. "No it doesn't. But ... "

"But what?"

She rubbed her eyes. "I don't know, Draco. I've got more on my mind right now than Harry's position on his House team. Can we, I don't know, talk about this later?"

He walked passed her, annoyed. "Whatever."

It took only a few minutes to arrive at Professor Snape's office. By the time Hermione and Draco knocked on the door, Hermione was desperately struggling not to wrap her hands around Draco's neck for not having the restraint to just shut up already.

Murder, she figured, wouldn't bode well for her with her already irate Head of House.

The door opened before Hermione had even lowered her hand from the knocker.

"Come," said a tall, dark shadow.

Draco swallowed and stumbled forward blindly.

The office was unchanged from any previous private lesson Hermione had participated in; everything was in pristine order. She felt privately that the dimwitted Gryffindors who assumed Professor Snape had skulls, vials of students' blood, and human fingernails in his possession were both dreadfully unobservant and horribly thick.

The Potions master had a very simple and very clean office. The desk, the chairs, the couch off to the side of the room, the bookshelves – all of it appeared rather Victorian. Black was obviously his color of choice, but that didn't mean the man kept body parts inside his desk drawers.

"I see that the two of you managed, at least, to arrive on time to our meeting," Professor Snape said coolly. He wasn't looking at the pair of them. His gaze, rather, was fixed upon the dimming fire, at the embers that rolled and changed from red to orange and yellow. "It is ... _unfortunate_ that I will not be forced to transfigure Mr Malfoy into a pocket watch."

Hermione thought she saw the corners of his lips lift, just slightly. Draco, however, appeared as though he was going to be sick.

Professor Snape stepped away from the fire and walked over to them, hands clasped behind his back, looking down his long nose with infinite displeasure.

Hermione, under his gaze, blushed a bit and dropped her eyes.

"Miss Granger."

His voice echoed ominously throughout the close space.

She looked up at him mutely, her hands wringing together in front of her. She stilled herself. "Yes, sir?"

His furious gaze was a statement of its own. She was privately grateful to feel Draco standing beside her.

"You will no longer have private lessons in Potions."

Her had snapped up. "What! But sir – _please_, I'll do anything – "

"No interruptions!"

She winced, and took an involuntary step toward Draco, fumbling about for her wand – to do what, she didn't know.

Professor Snape hissed through his teeth and leaned closer; Hermione shrunk backward. "As your teacher _and _as your Head of House, I have the right to deal with you two in _any_ way I see fit." His voice carried a trembling intensity that pinned her to the floor. "The both of you should feel thoroughly thrilled you're not being expelled."

Hermione ducked her head, ashamed. "I-I'm sorry, sir," she managed, reeling. "You're right."

He gave her that odd look again – the one that made him seem almost surprised by her – but it was gone the next instant. He cleared his throat. "Depending on how you serve your detentions, Miss Granger, we will later meet to discuss if private lessons are somewhere on the horizon for you in years to come. I wouldn't, however," he added nastily, when she looked up with hope, "hold my breath. For now, you are dismissed."

She nodded dully. "Yes, sir."

And walking to the exit, lost in thought, she fought the need to know his secret about the Stone – or lack thereof – more than ever.

In the end, her damnable curiosity won out, half-against her better judgment. "Sir, about last night – "

His voice brooked no refusal. "Miss Granger," he hissed, making no effort to disguise his rage. "I believe I told you that you were free to go, Miss Granger. Now, OUT!"

She ducked into the shadow of the doorway and swallowed. "Yes, sir."

* * *

At the Slytherin table, while she looked toward the huge oak doors to see if Draco had survived the wrath of Professor Snape, Hermione was surprised to see a school owl land in front of her with the post.

"School owl?" Millie asked, piling her plate high with crackling bacon.

Hermione reached for the owl's proffered talon. "Seems to be. No idea who would be sending – oh." Her face fell once she opened the envelope.

Millie's dark brows rose upward and she peered forward, trying to read it. "What is it? Who's it from?"

"Detention," Hermione muttered, dropping the letter and rubbing her eyes. "From Professor McGonagall. I'd almost forgotten. It's tonight – with Filch."

Millie's face took on an expression of absolute disgust. "Don't envy you there, Hermione. He's not the cheeriest, is he?"

Hermione groaned and looked across the Hall to the Gryffindor table. Harry and Weasley were reading similar letters from school owls.

"Well," said Millie brightly, following her friend's gaze, "at least it won't be just you and Filch." She dug into her eggs and toast. "I think you're barking for being friends with the likes of Potter, but I reckon you'll keep each other company."

"Yeah," Hermione muttered. "I guess."

She pushed her food around on her plate uninterestedly, checking over her shoulder at the front doors every few minutes.

"Who you looking for?" Millie asked.

Hermione sighed, examining her fork. "Draco. He's been in Professor Snape's office for ages. I was wondering if he got off worse than me."

Millie looked toward the tall double doors, chewing her food thoughtfully. "He's still down there?"

"Yeah," said Hermione. "I've never seen Professor Snape so angry as he was with us last night and this morning."

"You still haven't told me what happened – "

"I don't want to talk about it."

Millie shrugged. "You're mad for getting Snape's feathers ruffled. I'm terrified of him at the best of times."

"Hmph."

And then, only a few moments later, Draco stumbled through the double doors, as pale and lost as Hermione had ever seen him. He avoided both her and Millie, choosing, instead, to drop down next to Pansy at the opposite end of the table. The hard-faced girl proceeded to immediately dote upon him.

"I may vomit," Millie said with disgust, pushing back against the table. "We're what – eleven? And they act like bloody love-struck teenagers."

Hermione shrugged and stood, not caring at all about Draco and Pansy's relationship. The only concern she had at present was getting out of the Main Hall before Professor Snape arrived. "I'm going to class. I've loads to do. I won't have time to study tonight with detention."

Millie nodded and swallowed the remained of her eggs. "Right. See you later, then."

* * *

At eleven o'clock that night, Hermione said good-bye to Millie in the common room and headed up to the Entrance Hall with Draco. Filch was already there – and so were Weasley and Harry.

"Follow me," said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.*

"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?*" he said, leering at them. "Oh yes ... hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me ... It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out ... hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed .... Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do.*"

They marched across the dark grounds. Draco leaned close to Hermione. "He's not serious about the chains, do you think?"

"I don't know," Hermione whispered back. "But I don't want to find out."

The moon was bright, the clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Hermione could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.*

"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.*"

Beside her, Harry whispered something excitedly to Weasley – about Hagrid, no doubt.

"I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy – it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece.*" Filch seemed positively delighted by the prospect.

"The Forest?" Draco repeated. "We can't go in there at night – there's all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I've heard.*"

"Werewolves?" Hermione screeched.

"That's your problem, isn't it?*" said Filch, his voice cracking with glee. "Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you?*"

Hagrid came striding toward them out of the dark, Fang at his heel. He was carrying his large crossbow, and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder.*

"I'll be back at dawn," said Filch, "for what's left of them," he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.*

Draco walked over to Hagrid. "I'm not going into that forest.*"

"Draco – " Hermione warned.

"Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts," said Hagrid fiercely. "Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it.*"

"But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do. I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this he'd – *"

" – Tell yer that's how it is at Howarts," Hagrid growled. "Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on!*"

"Draco," Hermione whispered, coming up beside him. "Just be quiet."

"Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment.*"

They walked behind Hagrid toward the very edge of the Forest. Holding his lamp high, Hagrid pointed down a narrow, winding earth track that disappeared into the thick black trees. A light breeze lifted their hair as they looked into the forest.*

"Look there," said Hagrid, "see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have to put it out of its misery.*"

Hermione swallowed and looked up at Hagrid. "You mean ... kill it?"

Hagrid looked down at her sternly. "Only if it's hurt badly – to where we couldn' save 'im."

"I ... I might be sick."

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?*" said Draco, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

"There's nothin' that lives in the Forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," said Hagrid. "An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least.*"

"I want Fang," said Draco quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.*

"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid. "So, me, Harry, an' Hermione'll go one way and Draco, Ron, an' Fang'll go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now – that's it – an' if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, an' we'll all come an' find yeh – so, be careful – let's go.*"

The Forest was black and silent. "Shouldn't we hear crickets or something?" Harry whispered to Hermione as they forked on the left path, leaving Weasley and Draco to the right.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "I've never been in a magical forest before – though I _know _at my muggle school I'd never have to do anything this dangerous for detention. We'd do like Draco said – write lines, or _anything_ besides this."

Harry looked up at Hagrid as they pressed forward, walking around a mossy tree stump. "_Could _a werewolf be killing the unicorns?*"

"Not fast enough," said Hagrid. "It's not easy ter catch a unicorn, they're powerful magic creatures. I never knew one ter be hurt before.*"

Spots of unicorn blood were everywhere.

"You all right, Hermione?" Hagrid whispered. "Don' worry, it can't've gone far if it's this badly hurt, an' then we'll be able ter – GET BEHIND THAT TREE!*"

Hermione stumbled forward and ducked behind a towering oak with Harry. Hagrid pulled out an arrow and fitted it into his crossbow, raising it, ready to fire. The three of them listened. Something was slithering over dead leaves nearby: it sounded like a cloak trailing along the ground. Hagrid was squinting up the dark path, but after a few seconds, the sound faded away.*

"I knew it," he murmured. "There's summat in here that shouldn' be.*"

"A werewolf*?" suggested Harry.

"That wasn' no werewolf an' it wasn' no unicorn, neither," said Hagrid grimly. "Right, follow me, but careful, now.*"

They walked more slowly, Hermione trembling. She wasn't certain if it was the cool night air, or the fact that she was absolutely terrified. _Both, is more likely._

And in the clearing, up ahead, something moved.

"Who's there?" Hagrid called. "Show yerself – I'm armed!*"

Hermione drew her wand and pointed it shakily into the clearing. And suddenly there came – was it a man, or a horse? Hermione swallowed and scooted behind Hagrid, looking up at a creature she had only ever read about.

"Oh, it's you, Ronan," said Hagrid in relief. "How are yeh?*"

"Good evening to you, Hagrid," said Ronan. He had a deep sorrowful voice. "Were you going to shoot me?*"

"Can't be too careful, Ronan," said Hagrid, patting his crossbow. "There's summat bad loose in this forest. This is Harry Potter an' Hermione Granger, by the way. Students up at the school. An' this is Ronan, you two. He's a centaur.*"

"We'd noticed,*" said Hermione faintly.

"Good evening," said Ronan. "Students, are you? And do you learn much, up at the school?*"

"A bit,*" said Hermione timidly.

"A bit. Well, that is something." Ronan sighed. He flung his head back and stared at the sky. "Mars is bright tonight.*"

"Yeah," said Hagrid, glancing up, too. "Listen, I'm glad we've run inter yer, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn bin hurt – you seen anythin'?*"

"Always the innocent are the first victims," he said. "So it has been for ages past, so it is now.*"

"Harry," Hermione whispered, as Hagrid continued to talk to the centaur, "do you think that – that Draco and Weasley are all right by themselves? Do you really think Fang's a coward? He's an enormous dog, really."

Harry shook his head, staring up at the Ronan. "Dunno. I suppose they would have sent up red sparks if they were in real trouble, right?"

"But if they've run into ... I don't know – centaurs or something, then who knows what they'll do! I doubt either of them have seen any before – "

Another centaur walked into the clearing. Hagrid greeted it amiably.

The one nearest – Bane – had the same response to Hagrid's repetitive question. "Mars is bright tonight."

"We've heard," said Hagrid grumpily. "Well, if either of you do see anythin' let me know, won't yeh? We'll be off, then.*"

Hermione followed after Hagrid, staring over her shoulder at Bane and Ronan until the trees blocked her view.

"Never," said Hagrid irritably, "try an' get a straight answer out of a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in anythin' closer'n the moon.*"

"Are there many of _them _in here?*" Hermione asked.

"Oh, a fair few."

"D'you think that was a centaur we heard earlier?*" said Harry.

"Nah, if yeh ask me, that was what's been killin' the unicorns – never heard anythin' like it before.*"

Hermione swallowed thickly and followed Harry and Hagrid through the dense, dark trees. She kept looking nervously over her shoulder. She had the nasty feeling they were being watched. And looking ahead as they rounded a bend in the path, she gasped, and jumped to tug at Hagrid's arm.

"Hagrid! Look! Red sparks, the others are in trouble!*"

"You two wait here!" Hagrid shouted. "Stay on the path, I'll come back for yeh!*"

"Oh no," Hermione moaned, once Hagrid had bounded out of sight. "You don't think they're really hurt, do you?"

"I don't know," said Harry numbly, looking to where Hagrid had disappeared into the trees.

They waited in silence, the leaves rustling around them. "I don't know any real protective spells," Hermione said in a sudden panic. "What if whatever it was that we heard comes after us? Do you think we can outrun it?"

Harry pulled his wand out of his sleeve and held it at the ready, testing it. "Maybe there are instinctive spells, Hermione. You know, something we haven't learned but could do if we were in any real danger?"

Hermione, too, had her wand out. "I don't know, Harry. I've never heard of anything like that before. Oh!"

A great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return. Draco, Weasley, and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Draco, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Weasley and grabbed him as a joke. Weasley had panicked and sent up the sparks.*

"Draco," Hermione scolded, as he came up beside her, a smirk on his face. "That was badly done. We thought something serious had happened! Harry and I have been scared out of our minds waiting here!"

"Oh!" Draco seemed pleased. "Scared, Potter?"

"You wish," Harry said darkly.

"We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'. Right, we're changin' groups.* Ron – you stay with me an' this idiot, Harry, you go with Fang an' Hermione."

Hermione reluctantly set off with Harry and Fang. "I felt better with Hagrid," she admitted after a long while. She glanced down at the huge dog beside her. He was burrowing his head in her robes just under her arm, whimpering. "Fang does seem to be a coward."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, eyeballing the dog. "At least Hagrid had that crossbow."

They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick.* Hermione thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. She could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branched of an ancient oak.*

"Look – " Harry murmured, holding out his arm to stop Hermione.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.*

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Hermione had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.*

Hermione, momentarily paralyzed, drew her wand to cast green sparks. But Harry had taken a step forward and a slithering sound made them both freeze where they stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered .... Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Hermione, and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.*

"RRRRRRR!"

Fang let loose a terrible growl and bolted – whimpering pathetically with his tail tucked between his legs. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry – unicorn blood was dribbling down its front.* Hermione stumbled and tripped over a loose root; she fell forward, her head connecting with something hard and cold as she collided with the forest floor. Harry, somewhere beside her, was screaming in pain, and had dropped to his knees.

"Harry!"

She heard hooves behind her, galloping, and something jumped clean over the both of them, charging at the figure.

Hermione got to her feet, hands trembling. She threw her wand upward to the starry sky and a burst of red sparks flew up past the canopy of the trees. She stumbled over to Harry, who was still on his knees. A centaur was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white-blond hair and a palomino body.*

"Are you all right?*" said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet.

"Yes – thank you." He turned his head around the clearing, squinting his eyes. "Hermione?"

"M'fine," she muttered, coming up beside him.

"You're bleeding!" Harry exclaimed, pointing at her forehead.

Hermione touched her head where it had crashed with the ground. Her fingers, when she drew them away, were stained with a dark liquid. "Oh," she said dazedly. "I must have hit my – "

"You should sit down, I think," said the centaur, peering down at her.

Feeling slightly dizzy at the sight of her own blood, Hermione's knees obliged and she sank to the ground.

"You are the Potter boy," said the centaur, turning to Harry. "You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time – especially for you. Can you ride? It will be quicker this way.*"

"My name is Firenze," he added, as he lowered himself on to his front legs.*

"Hermione?" Harry asked, pulling at her arm to help her to her feet. "All right, then? Can you climb on his back, do you think?"

She stood too quickly and swayed for a moment. Harry caught her elbow. "I'm fine. I can get on by myself. But ... I don't think we should move – I sent up red sparks for Hagrid – "

"We will meet him halfway, then," said Firenze, looking around the clearing. His tail flickered impatiently. "The sooner we can get you out of the Forest, the better."

They made their way through the trees in silence; Hermione clutched to the back of Harry's robes to keep from falling off the back. They were passing through a particularly dense patch of tress when Firenze suddenly stopped.

"Harry Potter," he said abruptly. "Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?*"

"No," said Harry. "We've only used the horn and tail hair in Potions.*"

"That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," said Firenze. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips.*"

"But who'd be that desperate?" Harry asked. "If you're going to be cursed forever, death's better, isn't it?*"

"It is," Firenze agreed, "unless all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else – something that will bring you back to full strength and power – something that will mean you can never die. Mr Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?*"

Hermione gasped. "The Sorcerer's Stone! Of course – the Elixir of Life! But I don't understand who – *"

"Can you think of nobody who has waited many years to return to power, who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?*"

Hermione brought the palm of her hand to her forehead, where she felt the blood flowing freely now.

"Do you mean," said Harry, "that was _Vol – *"_

"Harry," Hermione shrieked. "Don't say his name!"

"Harry! Harry are yeh all right?"

Hagrid was running toward them down the path, Weasley and Draco puffing along behind him.

"I'm fine," said Harry quickly. "Hermione's been hurt, though. The unicorn's dead, Hagrid, it's in that clearing back there.*"

"You're hurt, Hermione?" Draco asked anxiously. "What happened? We saw the sparks!"

"I tripped," Hermione said as she slid off Firenze's back. "I must've hit my head on a rock or something. It's bleeding ... pretty badly."

"Head wounds'll do that," said Hagrid knowingly, bending to get a closer look at the cut. "Best get yeh to the castle and have Madam Pompfrey look at yeh. She'll set yeh right."

Harry slid off the centaur's back.

"Good luck, Harry Potter," said Firenze. "The planets have been read wrongly before now, even by centaurs. I hope this is one of those times.*"

He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving the group in silence behind him.

* * *

Inside the Hospital Wing, as the three of them waited for Madame Pompfrey to return with the proper bandages for Hermione's head wound, Harry couldn't sit down. He paced up and down the room. Hermione could see he was shaking.

"Snape wants the Stone for Voldemort ... and Voldemort's waiting in the forest ... and all this time we thought Snape just wanted to get rich ... *"

"Stop saying his name!*" said Weasley in a terrified whisper.

Hermione, for once, agreed with him. "And quit accusing Professor Snape. We still don't know anything for certain – "

"Did you ask him?" Harry panted. "How do you know that Snape's _not_ the one trying to get it?"

"I – I don't," she admitted reluctantly. She was holding a huge wad of gauze against the side of her head. Madame Pompfrey's stern instructions still rang in her ears like the bells of a cathedral – _Don't you dare take your hand off your head, young lady!_

"Why'd Malfoy slither back down to the dungeons?" Weasley asked, opening the lid of one of Madame Pompfrey's containers and smelling it. "The git had enough excitement for one night?"

"I don't know," said Hermione. "But I don't think you should be messing around with Madame Pompfrey's things, Weasley."

Weasley grumbled and set the container back where he had found it.

"So, all I've got to wait for now is Snape to steal the Stone," Harry went on feverishly, "then Voldemort will be able to come and finish me off – *"

"_Will you stop saying the name!_" Weasley hissed.*

"Harry," said Hermione quietly, still pressing the gauze to her head, "everyone says Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. With Dumbledore around, You-Know-Who won't be able to touch you."

Harry smiled at her weakly. "Thanks, Hermione, but I'm not so sure. And what was Firenze talking about when he said that _the planets have been read wrongly before_?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've been thinking about it, and I'm not certain. It sounds an awful lot like fortune telling to me, and Professor McGonagall says that's a very imprecise branch of magic.*"

"I don't remember that lesson," said Weasley lightly, pulling up a chair by Harry and yawning hugely.

"That's because you and Dean Thomas were talking about Quidditch," Hermione retorted testily. "I could scarcely hear McGonagall, myself."

"Anyway," said Harry, obviously not caring, "I never thought I'd say this, but I hope Fluffy stays alive. Otherwise, Voldemort could come bursting through the door at any moment – "

"Still in here?" Madame Pompfrey clicked her tongue, trotting through the door to the Hospital Wing in a rather dramatic fashion. "You boys ought to be back inside your dormitories if you're not at all injured. It is well past curfew – "

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly, pointing at him. "Back in the Forbidden Forest, when that – that _thing_ came at you, you screamed. It sounded as though you were in terrible pain." She turned to the mediwitch, who was bustling industriously beside her. "Madam Pompfrey, you ought to take a look at Harry – "

"M'fine," Harry interrupted awkwardly. "Just a headache, is all. It's gone now."

"You're certain, Mr Potter?" Madame Pompfrey said, carefully peeling the gauze off Hermione's forehead. "Once I'm finished with Miss Granger here, I had better take a look at you. Oh! Of all the barbaric things for Argus to have you do! Sending children out in the forest! And in the middle of the night, no less! You're lucky a bump on the head is all you suffered! I've never head of such a thing!"

"Nor I."

All four heads in the room whipped around to see the Professor Snape standing in the doorway of the Hospital Wing, backlit by the torches in the corridor.

"Severus?" said Madame Pompfrey. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

"I might ask you the same thing, Poppy," Professor Snape said gravely, as he silently approached.

"Well," said Madame Pompfrey, "I'm just finishing with Miss Granger here, and was about to send everyone off to their respective dormitories." She paused and looked up at him. "Were you on patrol duty this evening?"

"No."

"Ah," she paused. "Well, what's the trouble?"

He slowly made his way past Harry and Weasley, glaring at them as though he held them both personally responsible for whatever reason he was upset. "It ... came to my attention that you were looking after one of my students. I merely came to assess the damage."

Hermione looked up at him. He had come to a halt a few paces in front of her on the little hospital bed, her feet dangling off the side. And there was that look of peculiar intensity as he stared down at her, his black eyes sharp and focused.

"Severus, please," said Madame Pompfrey mildly, gesturing toward him, "find somewhere to stand unobtrusively for a few minutes – I'm not yet finished with Miss Granger. All's well, I assure you. Just a nasty bump and cut is all. Nothing a quick spell and some gauze can't fix."

"And your ... Gryffindors, Poppy?"

"They were just off now, weren't you boys? Oh, unless you'd like me to have a look at you, Mr Potter – "

"Er, no. Thanks," Harry interrupted. He and Weasley quickly scrambled toward the door. "See you later, Hermione."

Hermione smiled half-heartedly. "Yeah, see you."

" – Tilt your head toward me, Miss Granger. Yes, that's right. Just one more quick spell, and you should be in mint condition. Oh, for Merlin's sake, Severus, it's not as bleak as it could be. Kindly refrain from scowling at my patient, if you would."

Hermione turned to look at him.

"No, dear," said Madame Pompfrey, gently cupping her hands under Hermione's chin, "I need you to tilt you head upwards. Yes, that's perfect."

Hermione didn't have to sit for much longer. Madame Pompfrey applied a small bandage to her forehead and nodded with apparent satisfaction. "The bandage has a soothing salve on it," she explained. "Though the gash is healed, you ought to leave the bandage on for a few days."

"A few days?" Hermione moaned. "But everyone will ask – "

"Do you fancy having a pounding migraine every few hours, Miss Granger?" Madame Pompfrey tisked, her hands at her hips.

"Er, no, ma'am."

"Then I suggest you follow my instructions."

Hermione nodded and slid down off the bed. "Yes, ma'am. Am I ... free to go then?"

"Yes, though I'd almost wish you'd stay the night just to be certain – "

"You said it yourself, Poppy," said Professor Snape very softly, from the corner of the room, "that it was merely a _bump._ I am available to escort Miss Granger to the Slytherin common room if your concern is leaving your station."

The mediwitch frowned at him for a moment. "Yes, well then, just remember, Severus, the girl's been through something of a trauma – I'd prefer if you have something nasty to say to her for it to wait until morning."

He looked through the huge, arched windows and at the gathering grayness outside. He raised an eyebrow. "It is nearly morning as we speak, Poppy."

"Severus – "

"Poppy," Professor Snape interrupted, coming from out of the corner to stand in front of Hermione, "I give you my word that I'll see to it Miss Granger is well looked after." And he turned to Hermione, who was watching the exchange with a curious expression. "Come, Miss Granger. I shall escort you to the common room."

She nodded and trailed after him.

Poppy, with knowing eyes, watched the pair leave.

"Yes, Severus," she said quietly, once the door had been shut. "I daresay she is."

* * *

"Sir," Hermione implored, once they were alone in the empty corridor. "I swear to you, I had a detention from Professor McGonagall tonight. That's why I was out after hours. I wasn't disobeying the rules. I – I have the letter from McGonagall if you'd like to see it – "

"Stop babbling, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said coldly. "If you had been disobeying school rules for a second night in a row, I can most readily assure you that we would be having a very different sort of conversation."

Hermione hurried to keep up with him. "Oh."

"Indeed."

They passed down through the Entrance Hall in silence and continued downward still, descending into the depths of the dungeons. Hermione rubbed her eyes wearily as she followed, doing her best to suppress a yawn.

"You are tired, Miss Granger," said Professor Snape from a few paces in front of her.

"Yes, sir," said Hermione. "What time is it?"

"It is near dawn."

Hermione yawned again. "I suppose I should be grateful it is a Saturday."

He turned left, instead of continuing straight to where the common room was.

"Sir?" said Hermione. "Where are we – "

"Silence, Miss Granger," snapped Professor Snape. "And follow me."

She did, albeit slowly. It was only a few seconds later that she realized where he was leading her.

He undid the wards to his office quickly and skillfully; he unlocked the door and stood back for her to enter first. Hermione sighed as she sank into her customary chair, waiting for him to light the hearth and sit opposite her, barricaded safely behind his desk.

But he didn't sit. He stood in front of her with his arms folded. And waited.

Hermione had to crane her head back to look up at him properly.

"Sir, I – "

"While I am a firm believer in discipline," he interrupted, "even _I _have limits."

She blinked. "Sir?"

For a few moments Professor Snape said nothing. He simply stared at her, all color drained from his face.

"I'm certain Minerva merely assigned you to Argus for detention," he said finally. "Though a Gryffindor, even she has more sense than this."

Hermione looked up at him, solemn.

"Tell me what you saw in the forest, Miss Granger."

And so she did, first about the unicorn's blood, about the centaurs, and then the hooded creature that had been most frightening of all. She tried to be vague at first. But he gave her a piercing look, and then she told him about Harry, falling to his knees in pain when the thing hadn't even touched him.

Professor Snape looked down at her gravely.

Hermione swallowed and fought for courage. "Sir, is it ... that is, could it really be You-Know-Who?"

He appeared startled for a moment. There was a sudden nakedness in his dark eyes.

"I can only pray," he said very softly, "that that is not the case."

Hermione nodded. And then, unexpectedly, he dropped to a crouch in front of her. His eyes focused on the little white bandage on her forehead.

"H-how did you know to come find me, sir?" she asked, to distract herself more than anything.

"Draco," he said simply, his gaze not moving from her forehead. "He was ... concerned for you, I think."

"Oh."

"Come," he said after a long moment, "I will accompany you to the common room." He stood and extended his hand to her, palm upwards. She hesitated for only a moment and then took it, allowing him to help her from the chair.

In front of the trap door, in the tangible silence of dawn, Professor Snape brought down the wards.

"Your presence is not required at breakfast this morning, Miss Granger," he said a little stiffly. "I do, however, expect to see you at the Slytherin table for lunch."

Exhausted and a little sore, Hermione hesitated at the portal hole, feeling a profound sense of gratitude. She looked back at him, and smiled.

But Professor Snape had already disappeared from the corridor.

* * *

_A/N: I really am a jerk for the long delay. Christmas was quite busy and between last minute shopping, dealing with family, cooking, and everything else - I had little to no time to do any writing. :( I hope everyone had a great holiday and a wonderful New Year. Much thanks to my lovely beta, borgprincess, for editing my incomprehensible babbling. :D _

_I've appreciated all the reviews more than I can say. It's staggering. Let me know if you're still liking the story ... _


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**

* * *

  
**

Hermione Granger was, above all, a student. As such, she put her confidence in her studies. In books. Things she was familiar with and understood. Being a student, however, had nothing to do with the grim sense of perpetual failure that followed her like a shadow.

"I'm going to fail, Millie. I _know_ it." She tried with fair success to focus clasping her hands together before they started ripping out bits of her own hair.

Millie laughed once and looked down at her friend as they made their way to the History of Magic classroom. She shook her head, incredulous. "You're barking, Hermione. You and I _both _know that you know everything about those batty old wizards who invented – what was it?" She paused. "Self-stirring cauldrons?"

"Self-stirring cauldrons are exceptionally useful," Hermione snapped, her voice slightly hysterical. Her little hands waved around wildly as they crossed the threshold of the classroom. "I didn't get to review the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or anything at all about the uprising of Elfric the Eager!"

Millie rolled her eyes and settled into her desk, stretching out languidly. "Hermione, Professor Binns specifically said that wouldn't be on the test."

Hermione sank down heavily beside her. "Yes, but what if he makes reference to it somehow? Oh, I _know_ I read about Elfric when school first started, I just wish I had extra time to review my notes – "

"Come off it, Hermione," said Draco from the row behind her. "You're making me nervous." He flipped through his History of Magic text frantically, his gray eyes scanning the pages in desperation. "What did you say about werewolves conducting something? Was that in the footnotes? Do you have the page number?"

Hermione whirled around and scowled at him. "It's the Werewolf Code of Conduct, Draco, and you _should _be nervous. You couldn't at all make that pineapple dance for Professor Flitwick's exam. You're lucky you did well in Potions and Transfiguration, or it would bring your final score down quite badly – "

"Lay off him, Hermione," Pansy growled. She dropped her satchel on the floor and sat beside Draco. "Your snuffbox still had whiskers for McGonagall's exam."

"That's because I hadn't finished when you looked over!"

The ghost of Professor Binns floated to the front of the room and quieted the class as best he could. It was, of course, a dismal effort at best. Hermione fidgeted anxiously in her seat, horribly uncomfortable, as she waited for her very last exam for the year.

"Good luck," Millie whispered to her, once they received their parchment and Anti-Cheating quills. "Just think, we'll have a whole week off once we're done with this!"

"Shhh!" Hermione hushed her angrily as she unrolled her parchment. "I have to think!"

An hour later, after Hermione frantically scribbled her last response on the parchment – using _every_ available inch of free space – Professor Binns declared the exam finished. And Millie had been right. There hadn't been anything at all about Elfric or the Werewolf Code of Conduct.

"Well," said Hermione, rolling up her exam with an exhausted smile, "that was far easier than I thought it would be."

Millie thumped her hard on the back and passed her own exam forward. "I told you, didn't I? And now we're free for an entire week before we get our scores back! It'll be like a proper vacation!"

Behind them, Draco was already making plans to go down to the lake to antagonize the giant squid. Pansy appeared positively enthralled by the idea.

"We just have to get it in the warm shallows to tickle its tentacles and then – "

"To each his own, I suppose," Hermione muttered quietly as she gathered her things. Millie laughed loudly and followed after her.

* * *

The weather outside was warm. A pleasant gust of wind brought with it the smell of cool grass. Once they were beyond the shadow of the castle, Hermione paused briefly, closed her eyes, and breathed in. All the stress from the solitary three-in-the-morning studying and research sessions seemed to instantly wither away as she stared out at the grounds. A sense of relief, of a pin popping the pressure of the last nine months, threatened to break into what only could be described as a wild, dawning joy.

_Of course_ she still had her summer studies. She had to be prepared for when term began again in September. But for this moment, at least, she felt gratitude and relief.

"Oy, Hermione!" Harry hurried down from the castle and onto the grassy slope at a half-run. Weasley appeared from behind the front gate, strolling nonchalantly after his friend. "How'd your exams go?"

"Not bad," Hermione said brightly, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun to look at him. "I'm slightly worried about the Defense practical – and the Potions one, for that matter. I know I had private lessons with Professor Snape for the majority of the year, but I'm still not certain if I added the newt toes at the right time for the Forgetfulness Potion – "

"Hey," said Millie, coughing loudly. "I, uh, I think I'm going to go and see what Draco and Pansy are up to with that squid. I'll see you later, Hermione." She glanced uncertainly at Harry. "Potter."

Harry nodded. "Bulstrode."

Hermione waved after her friend. "See you, Millie."

"She doesn't seem too bad," Harry observed, watching Millie disappear down the hill, " ... for a Slytherin."

Hermione shot him a cross glare, until she realized he was grinning stupidly.

"Oh, yeah? Well, I suppose Weasley's not too bad for a Gryffindor."

"Hey!" Weasley puffed, walking slowly towards them. "I'm not deaf, you know!"

"Could have fooled me," Hermione laughed. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, it's only a joke, Weasley. No need to get your knickers in a twist."

Weasley's face turned bright red. "I'd rather you not discuss my knickers if it's all the same to you, thanks."

Harry chuckled. "Why not? I'm sure they only have a Chudley Cannons pattern – "

"The Cannons?" Hermione shrieked. "I don't know much about Quidditch, but I know enough to understand they're not a reliable team to support ... "

Weasley didn't speak to Hermione the rest of the way down the hill. Harry, ever the peacekeeper between the two, rubbed his forehead gingerly.

"You could look more cheerful, Harry," Weasley muttered as he stretched out happily on the grass beneath a shady tree, "we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet.*"

Harry dropped down beside his friend. "I'm not worried about the grades, Ron. It's my forehead," he winced as he touched his scar with his index and middle fingers. "It aches all the time."

Hermione leaned against the trunk and folded her arms, frowning in thought.

"I just wish I knew what it _means!_" he burst out angrily. "My scar – it's happened before, but never as often as this.*"

"Go to Madam Pomfrey,*" Hermione suggested.

"I'm not ill," said Harry. "I think it's a warning ... it means danger's coming ... *"

Weasley appeared too relaxed to be overly concerned.

"Harry, relax, Granger's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy. He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down.*"

"Don't forget You-Know-Who," Hermione said mildly, picking idly at a leaf off a thin branch. "You keep saying Professor Snape's involved, and yet Harry and I _saw _You-Know-You out in the Forest – killing a unicorn, no less."

Weasley opened one blue eye on her. "Yeah, well, it's the same thing really, isn't it? They're both evil. Smelly. Terrifying."

Hermione leaned over him, scowling. Her massive bushy hair fell around her face like a lion's mane. "You take that back, Weasley."

He peered up at her. "I will not. The git smells like something foul – "

"Guys," said Harry, a little wearily. "Could you – "

"That's the Potions classroom, you daft moron! Not him!"

"Says you!"

"Guys!" Harry suddenly jumped to his feet.

"Where're you going?*" Weasley asked, sitting up on his elbows.

"I've just thought of something," said Harry. He had turned white and set off in a run. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now.*"

"Why?" panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd," said Harry, scrambling up the slope, "that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it's against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don't you think? Why didn't I see it before?*"

"What are you talking about?*" said Weasley. Harry, sprinting across the grounds toward the Forest, didn't answer.

Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large bowl.*

"Hullo," he said, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?*"

Hermione, who was panting, nodded. "Yes, please."

"No, we're in a hurry, Hagrid," said Harry. "I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?*"

"Dunno," said Hagrid casually, "he wouldn' take his cloak off.*"

"Wouldn't take it off!" Hermione echoed, her eyes widening. "Hagrid, do you realize – "

"It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head – that's the pub down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.*"

Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas.

"What did you talk to him about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?*"

"Mighta come up," said Hagrid, frowning as he tried to remember. "Yeah ... he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here .... He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after ... so I told him ... an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon ... an' then ... I can' remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks .... Let's see ... yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted ... but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home .... So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy .... *"

"And did he – did he seem interested in Fluffy?*" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Well – yeah – how many three-headed dogs d'yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep – *"

Hagrid, very suddenly, looked quite horrified.

"I shouldn'ta told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey – where're yeh goin'?*"

Harry, Weasley, and Hermione didn't speak to each other at all until they came to a halt in the Entrance Hall, which seemed very cold and gloomy after the grounds*.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," said Harry. "Hagrid told a stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak – it must've been easy, once he got Hagrid drunk. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

"Dunno," said Weasley, looking around helplessly. "Never been."

"I know where it is," said Hermione, slightly breathless. "It's this way – "

A voice suddenly rang out through the hall.

"What are you three doing inside?*"

It was Professor McGonagall, carrying a large stack of books.

"We need to see Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione.

The Transfiguration professor raised a brow. "Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago. He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once.*"

"He's gone!" said Harry frantically. "_Now_?*"

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time – *"

"But this is important.*"

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?*"

"Professor McGonagall, please," said Hermione desperately, "it's about the Sorcerer's Stone."

Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it certainly wasn't that. The books she was carrying tumbled out of her arms, but she didn't pick them up.*

"How do you know – ?*" she spluttered.

Harry stepped forward. "Professor, I think – I _know _– that Sn – that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore.*"

She eyed him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she said finally. "I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected.*"

"But Professor – "

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she said shortly. She bent down and gathered up the fallen books. Hermione rushed forward to help her. "I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine.*"

But they didn't.

"It's tonight," said Harry, once he was certain McGonagall was out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up.*"

"Harry, we still don't – "

Weasley gasped very suddenly.

Professor Snape was standing right behind them.

"Good afternoon*," he said smoothly.

They stared at him.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd, twisted smile.*

"We were – " Harry began.

"You ought to be more careful," said Professor Snape. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?*"

Hermione flushed and glanced anxiously over at Harry and Weasley.

"Be warned, Potter – any more night-time wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you.*" His eyes flickered toward Hermione. "Miss Granger, a word, if you please."

Hermione nodded. "Er, yes, sir."

She followed him in silence through the Entrance Hall and stopped just short of where the spiral stairs descended into the dungeons. It was a relatively private area, as the entire student body was outside taking in the weather, save for Harry and Weasley.

Professor Snape stood in silence for a long moment. Hermione felt her throat tighten as she waited. Eventually, with his customary sneer, Professor Snape straightened the cuffs of his sleeves and said in a bored tone, "I trust Potter is still laboring under the misapprehension that I am somehow involved in taking the Sorcerer's Stone."

Hermione looked up him. She managed to blink. Her heart felt like it had exploded. _He's – he's not after the Stone! _A thousand questions filled her mind, but her tongue could not force any of them out.

"Miss Granger," he drawled, "I had_ hoped_ that, despite the fact that you have completed your examinations for the year, you would still retain the ability to form sentences."

Hermione swallowed thickly, fixing her attention on him. "Oh. Yes, sir. He – well, he still thinks you're trying to steal the Stone."

Professor Snape seemed to consider this for a moment. And then, looking down at her, his face turned solemn. "Can I trust you, Miss Granger?"

"Yes," she said, almost involuntarily. Her heart was pounding.

He nodded levelly. His face grew hard. "Potter has proved himself to be ... rash. Impulsive. Furthermore, he does not know the power he is up against when it comes to – " He trailed off abruptly. Hermione thought he looked unnerved.

"Since you _insist_ on aligning yourself with him," he continued with obvious disgust, "though the notion is quite beyond me, I am trusting you to make certain that, on this occasion, at least, he does not ... act in such a way." He paused and his jaw tightened. "Can you do that, Miss Granger?"

She looked up at him. And strangely it came together for her. "So ... it _is_ You-Know-Who that's trying to take it. But – " She shook her bushy head, trying to wrap her mind around it. "I don't understand – "

"I merely asked for your assistance, Miss Granger, not for a vocalization of your thoughts."

She blushed. "Of course, sir. I just," she stammered, " ... I, well, I can't tell you how glad I am to know that you're not at all involved in – "

"Enough," he spat irritably. "Your word, Miss Granger. I must hear it from your own lips."

Hermione's heart was pounding in her ears. "My word, sir. You have it."

"Very well. Now, I must go," he said hollowly. "I ... bid you good day, Miss Granger."

He strode off in the direction of the staff room with his heavy cloak trailing behind him. Hermione wondered why he still wore the thing in such mild weather, though it was scarcely a significant concern. He did not look back.

Hermione stood there long after he left, thinking. Then the thought struck her with a sudden urgency, _Find Harry. You've got to warn him it's You-Know-Who._

She took off in the opposite direction, her feet pounding loudly down the echoing hall. She only hoped Harry hadn't gone to the Gryffindor common room. Though she had heard it was located in one of the castle's many towers, she didn't know where, exactly, to begin looking. She ran to the marble staircase, back to where she had left Harry and Weasley, hoping – praying – they were still close by.

"Hermione!" a voice hissed, once she reached the cloisters. She jerked to a stop and spun around to see Harry and Weasley hurrying towards her. She doubled over and took a few deep, labored, breaths.

"What did Snape want?" Harry demanded in a rush.

"We thought you'd been murdered for sure," Weasley said seriously.

Hermione shook her head, her chest still heaving. "He didn't want anything. He's not after the Stone."

"Yeah, right," said Harry sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "I know he's trying to get it, Hermione. He wants it for Voldemort so he can come back. So he can be in power again."

"Don't say his name!" Weasley moaned.

"He's not after it, Harry," Hermione said firmly. She straightened once she finally caught her breath, drawing herself high. "He told me himself."

Harry laughed cruelly. "Oh, he told you, did he? We best take him at his word, hadn't we?"

"Listen, Harry – "

"No, _you_ listen, Hermione," Harry interrupted. He moved so close to her that they were practically touching noses. "You have to trust me, all right? Snape's working for Voldemort. I know it. And if Voldemort takes power again ... " he ran his hand through his hair and shrugged, " ... then we're all dead."

She looked at him without blinking. "Harry," she breathed. "I – "

Harry shook his head. "You've got to follow Snape, Hermione. Make certain he's not going to the third floor." His voice became suddenly soft. "You're one of his, so he'll trust you."

Hermione thought of Professor Snape. Of her promise to him. "No, Harry. I – I need to stay with you."

He threw his head back and groaned in frustration. "No, Hermione, you don't. Where did he go off to when you left?"

She sighed and rubbed her palms into her eyes. "It looked like he was heading toward the staff room, but I can't be sure – "

"Perfect! You can just wait outside and then follow him when he comes out."

Hermione dropped her hands from her eyes and looked at him with real exasperation. "That's the stupidest plan I've ever heard of, Harry. How would that even work? Besides, Professor Snape is not – "

"It's a great plan, obviously," Weasley pipped up, bitting a nail. "You can pretend to be waiting for Professor Flitwick, you know." He put on a high voice. "'Oh Professor Flitwick, I'm so worried, I think I got question fourteen _b _wrong ....'*"

"Oh, shut it," Hermione snapped acidly. "I'm _not_ waiting for Professor Snape, Harry. He's too smart; he'd figure me out in an instant and if you'd just_ listen to me_, you'd know that he's not after the Stone at all!"

"I _know _he is, Hermione – "

"FINE!" Hermione shouted loudly, surprising everyone. She pushed Harry away from her and began to pace angrily back and forth across the breadth of the corridor. "Say he _is _after the Stone. What are you supposed to do about it, Harry? Dumbledore is gone and Professor McGonagall certainly doesn't believe you. _If_ Professor Snape truly is after the Stone, do you honestly believe that _I _would be able to stop him?"

Harry looked over at her, startled.

"Well?" she panted. She felt a childlike desire to kick the wall. "Do you, Harry?"

His face was pale. He appeared to be thinking. "Well, I guess I'll just have to try to get to the Stone before he does, then."

"You're mad!" cried Weasley, his blue eyes wide and afraid.

"No, you can't!" Hermione insisted, thinking of her promise to Professor Snape. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!*"

"SO WHAT?" Harry shouted. "Don't you understand? If Snape gets a hold of the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over? There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll flatten it, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts! Losing points doesn't matter anymore, can't you see? I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you two say is going to stop me! Voldemort killed my parents, remember?*"

"Harry," Hermione whispered, "please, you have to see how dangerous this is. We need to wait for Dumbledore. Don't you think you're being too rash?"

"No," said Harry firmly. "I don't. I'll use my Invisibility Cloak. Snape doesn't know I have one."

"And if it's not Professor Snape? If it's You-Know-Who? Then what?"

He hesitated. "I'll figure something out."

"Not without us, you won't," said Weasley. "Right, Granger?"

Hermione looked over at them, and a new sick feeling rolled around in her stomach. Weasley's sudden notion of camaraderie aside, how was she supposed to explain to Professor Snape that she let Harry go off on his own? That she hadn't done as he had asked and kept Harry away from You-Know-Who? She felt her hands beginning to shake.

"Yeah, Weasley," she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself. "Not without us."

Weasley turned to Harry. "Will the cloak cover all three of us?"

"All – all three of us?*"

"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?*"

"But if we get caught, you two will be expelled, too.*"

"Not if I can help it," Hermione said grimly, looking up with conviction. "Flitwick told me in secret that I got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They're not throwing me out after that.*"

* * *

After dinner Hermione sat, grave and desolate, in the busy common room. On her lap lay an open Charms text and a few class notes. She had skimmed through them earlier, hoping to come across some of the enchantments they were likely to come up against on their way to the Stone. She twirled a quill between her fingers, occasionally taking an agitated bite on the nib. Her eyes simply rested on the pages, unmoving, not reading anything at all.

_How,_ she thought wryly, _did I wind up in this mess?_

Above all things, Harry Potter was her friend. Whatever strange twist of fate had entwined their paths together was unknown to her – but something had happened, something real and irreversible. Weasley .... She frowned and bit harder on the quill, trying to corral her thoughts into order. Weasley had helped to save her from the troll. And despite his laziness and obvious distaste for studying – no matter how _badly_ she wanted to believe it – he wasn't stupid. Unmotivated? Certainly. But not stupid. He had known what that mountain troll was, and actions like his to help save her created obligations.

Where Hermione might not have ever given Weasley a second thought in a previous life, she knew, somehow, that she was bound to him in a way. Indebted.

It was the same with Professor Snape.

He was her Head of House. A teacher and mentor. A fellow Slytherin. She owed him her loyalty and truly, he had it. Aside from her parents and Dumbledore, Professor Snape was the only living soul who knew her secret. In her mind, that left no other alternative _but _to trust him. And he had told her to do so, all but commanding her to confide in him if she ever felt threatened.

In turn, he had trusted her with something precious when he told her he wasn't the one after the Sorcerer's Stone. Of course, she had hoped for such a scenario – at the very least to prove he wasn't the evil bat Weasley and Harry thought him to be, but mainly, it was simply because she didn't want to believe otherwise.

But then came the moment when he had asked her to rein Harry in – the ultimate conflict of interests.

Could she be Harry's friend _and_ loyal to her House?

More than anything, she wanted to please Professor Snape. The other professors handed her compliments like free butterbeer. _Of course_ she enjoyed the recognition and the praise, first for the House points and then for personal reassurance. But Professor Snape was different. He was infinitely more difficult to please. And his approval, oddly, mattered to her more than any other.

Perhaps it was because he was her Head of House. Perhaps it was because his compliments (if stiff affirmation could be referred to as such a thing) were so rare. At any rate, the thought of letting him down seemed thoroughly unbearable.

Hermione snapped out of the fleeting reverie when from across the room, out of the corner of her eye, she caught Marcus Flint watching her.

It had initially surprised her, the way he seemed to notice her. He had thanked her multiple times throughout the year for the points she won Slytherin. Though to be fair, others in her House _did _notice her, too. She was undoubtedly responsible for a good ration of Slytherin's House points – putting them in contention to win the House Cup – but she was also on friendly terms with both Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and Draco Malfoy, the Boy-Whose-Family-Could-Buy-Half-Of-Wizarding-Britain-If-They-Wanted-To.

It was, she suspected, the unconventional combination of friends which undoubtedly left her peers feeling the need to discuss the ironies whenever she wasn't around.

However, Marcus' attention unsettled her at times. Like the strange sensation of hairs on the back of one's neck standing on end, a silent voice in her mind seemed to whisper, _be careful there. _How to explain it, to rationalize it, she didn't know.

She smiled weakly at him, and turned away, pretending to focus on her notes.

Slowly, the common room emptied as people drifted off to bed. And Hermione, with a deep sigh, trudged over to the girl's dormitories to put her things away. She lingered unnecessarily before making her way back into the common room, straightening books on her little shelf that were already straight, smoothing the green cover of her bed, delaying as long as she dared. Upon returning to the common room, she patted her robes down to make certain she had her wand.

"What are you doing?" said a voice from the corner of the room.

Pansy rose from an arm chair, clutching her hair brush. Her head was wrapped in a fuzzy, silver towel.

"Nothing," Hermione said hurriedly. She glanced toward the trap door, wondering if she could make a run for it.

"You're going out again." The accusation in her voice was clear as she nodded to Hermione's shoes and lack of nightwear. She came out from around the armchair. "It's after curfew; you'll lose Slytherin more points."

"You can thank Draco for that," said Hermione warily, eyes searching Pansy for a wand. "It was his fault for tattling."

Pansy shook her head and pointed at Hermione with her brush, as though it was an extension of her arm. Her eyes were narrowed. "Slytherin is already hated enough as it is, Hermione. Don't you think you've done enough damage? Do you _want _to lose the House Cup?"

_No. I just want to stop Harry from getting killed._

"You don't understand, Pansy." Hermione's eyes flickered around the empty common room to ascertain if they were truly alone. "This – it's really important."

"Don't make me laugh!" Pansy snorted, her eyes wild. The towel threatened to fall clean off her head. "I'll go find Snape the moment you leave – "

"Good!" Hermione snapped viciously. "Find him! Tell him I've been looking for him while you're at it, will you? But right now, Pansy," she shifted so she faced the hard-faced girl, though her legs were ready to spring toward the trap door, "I need you to move."

Hermione's initial thought after she had first left Harry and Weasley had been to find Professor Snape and tell him exactly what Harry was planning to do. Deep down, she knew it was a betrayal of Harry's trust, but faced with the choice of Harry being murdered by You-Know-Who or Harry being angry with her, she'd choose the former. If she couldn't stop Harry, perhaps Professor Snape could.

But Professor Snape hadn't been in his office or his private quarters. He hadn't been in the Potions classroom. He wasn't at dinner.

"Fat chance," said Pansy. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Then just know that I'm really, _really_ sorry about this."

Pansy's brow furrowed. "About what?"

Hermione sighed. "This." And she raised her wand and pointed it straight at Pansy. "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Pansy's arms snapped to her sides. Her legs sprang together. Her whole body rigid, she swayed where she stood and then fell flat on her face, stiff as a board.*

Hermione ran to turn her over. Pansy's jaws were jammed together so she couldn't speak. Only her eyes were moving, looking back up at her in horror.*

"I'm sorry, Pansy, but I can't have you following after me and waking the entire castle. If Professor Snape finds you ... tell him, well, he'll know where to find me, I suppose. Tell him I'm sorry. That I tried."

_Attacking a Housemate, _Hermione groaned inwardly as she flew up the stairs to meet with Harry and Weasley. _As if I needed another__ reason for why I should be expelled tonight._

_

* * *

_

She was already breathing hard by the time she reached the third floor. Hurrying as fast as she could, her mind racing, she wiped her brow and scurried down the corridor.

"_Hermione!"_

She jerked involuntarily and waved her wand around wildly, looking for the source of the voice.

"Over here," came Harry's voice from somewhere behind her, "next to the suit of armor! We're under the cloak!"

"Lift it up a bit so I can at least see your feet!" Hermione stage whispered. "I can't – oh. _There_ you are." They were huddled together in a dark alcove just beyond the statue.

"We've just spotted Mrs Norris," said Weasley, once she was tucked under the cloak with them. "She didn't seem to notice us, though."

"That's good," Hermione breathed. "Any other trouble?"

"No," said Harry. "Come on, we have to hurry."

A few minutes later, they were there, outside the third-floor corridor – and the door was already ajar.

"Well, there you are," Harry said quietly. "Snape's already got past Fluffy.*"

"If he did," whispered Hermione, "it's to protect the Stone, Harry, not steal it."

"_Hermione – "_

"It's a wonder there aren't any other professors or _something _here in the corridor to keep students away," Weasley observed, looking around. As he was the tallest of the three, the cloak moved each time he turned his head.

"Yeah, well, Snape probably already finished whoever it was that was here off, so there's not much we can do about that now," Harry growled. "I can understand if you two don't want to go now. It'll be dangerous. You can take the cloak. I won't need it anymore."

"Don't be stupid,*" said Weasley.

"_Someone _has to make sure you don't do anything reckless," Hermione agreed.

Harry pushed the door open.

As the door creaked, low, grumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniffed madly in their direction, even though it couldn't seem them.*

"What's that at its feet?*" Hermione asked.

"Looks like a harp," said Weasley. "Snape must have left it there.*"

"It must wake up the moment you stop playing," said Harry. "Well, here goes ... *"

He pulled a flute from his robes and put it to his lips.

"Where'd you get that?" Hermione demanded. "_You_ can play the flute?"

"No," said Harry, sounding sheepish. "And I borrowed it from Hagrid."

"When? You didn't steal it, did you – "

"Borrowed," Weasley affirmed.

Harry blew into the flute. It wasn't really a tune, but from the first note, the beast's eyes began to droop. Slowly, the dog's growls ceased – it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees, then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.*

"Keep playing," Weasley warned Harry as they slipped out of the cloak and crept towards the trapdoor. They could smell the dog's hot, smelly breath as they approached the giant heads.*

Harry climbed over it and looked down through the trapdoor. Hermione peered cautiously downward from behind him. There was no sign of the bottom.*

"Here." Harry passed the flute to Hermione.

"I don't know how to play it!"

"Neither did I – just blow. It doesn't care if you can carry a tune."

Hermione, hearing the sudden growling of the dog, brought the flute to her lips.

"You want to go first?" Weasley asked Harry. They both stood on opposite sides of the trapdoor, peering downward. Harry nodded.

"Are you sure?*"

"Yeah," said Harry, lowering himself through the hole until he was hanging by his fingertips. "If anything happens to me, don't follow. Send Hedwig to Dumbledore.*"

"Right," said Weasley.

"Wait," said Hermione, taking a quick breath from the flute, "Harry, I ... I really don't think this is a good idea. You could get seriously hurt – or worse."

In the time it took Hermione to form the sentence, the dog growled and twitched. She quickly brought it to her lips again, playing an off key tune.

"I've got to do this, Hermione," said Harry, looking up at her. "See you soon – I hope."

And Harry let go.

"Harry!" Weasley called after a few seconds of silence. "You all right, mate?"

"It's okay!" Harry called from somewhere below. "It's a soft landing!"

Apparently not needing any further encouragement, Weasley hopped over the opening and disappeared.

"Come on, Hermione!" Harry's voice echoed back up. "It's not too far – I promise!"

Hermione eyed the sleeping dog warily. Steeling herself as she peered down the dark hole, she tossed the flute and said a silent prayer. Cold, damp air pushed past her as she fell down, down, down and –

FLUMP.*

There was a distant bark from Fluffy as she pushed herself into a sitting position next to Harry.

"All right, Hermione?" Harry asked.

She nodded and looked upward. "My word ... we must be miles under the school.*"

"Lucky this plant thing is here, really,*" said Weasley.

"_Lucky!_" shrieked Hermione. "Look at you both!*" She leapt up and struggled toward a damp wall.

She had to struggle because the moment she had landed, the plant had started to twist snakelike tendrils around her ankles. As for Harry and Weasley, their legs had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing.*

Hermione had managed to free herself before the plant got a firm grip on her. Now she watched in horror as the two boys fought to pull the plants off them, but the more they strained against it, the tighter and faster the plant wound around them.*

"Stop moving!" Hermione ordered them. "I know what this is – it's Devil's Snare!*"

"Oh, I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help,*" snarled Weasley, leaning back, trying to stop the plant from curling around his neck.

"Shut up, I'm trying to remember how to kill it!*"

"Well, hurry up, I can't breathe!*" Harry gasped, wrestling with it as it curled around his chest.

"Devile's Snare, Devil's Snare ... what did Professor Sprout say? – it likes the dark and the damp – *"

"So light a fire!*" Harry choked.

"Oh, right!" said Hermione, and she whipped out her wand, waved it, muttered something, and sent a jet of bluebell flames at the plant. In a matter of seconds, the two boys felt it loosening its grip as it cringed away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unraveled itself from their bodies, and they were able to pull free.*

"Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione," said Harry as he joined her by the wall, wiping sweat off his face.*

"Yeah," she muttered, still training her wand on the hissing plant. "Lucky it was there to cushion our fall, really. We'd have broken our legs for sure if we had landed on solid stone."

"Better than being strangled to death," said Weasley, brushing off his robes.

"Come on," said Harry. "We can't waste any more time." He pointed down a stone passageway, which appeared to be the only way forward.

The passageway sloped downwards. "I can't believe we're still going down," whispered Hermione, looking around. The gentle drip of water trickled down the walls.

"Wait. Can you hear something?" whispered Weasley.

Hermione listened. A soft rustling and clinking seemed to be coming from up ahead.*

"Do you think it's a ghost?*" Weasley asked, peering down the passageway.

"I – I don't think they can leave the castle, can they?" said Hermione. Instinctively, she drew her wand and held it ahead of her.

"I don't know ... sounds like wings to me.*"

"Wings?"

"There's light ahead – I can see something moving.*"

They reached the end of the passageway and saw before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high above them. It was full of small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.*

"Now what?" asked Weasley.

"We try the door, of course," said Hermione, walking out under the huge archway. She eyed the birds warily as she crossed the space, but they fluttered along, as indifferent to her as a stone.

Harry and Weasley hurried ahead of her, anxious, or eager for Merlin knew what. Harry reached the door first and pulled the handle. "It's locked."

Hermione, suppressing an eye roll, flicked her wand at the handle. "_Alohomora!_"

The door didn't budge.

"I – I don't understand," said Hermione, after trying the charm three more times. She rolled the wand over in her hand, peering down at the tip. "It should be opening."

"Well," Weasley said irritably. "It's not, Granger."

Hermione looked around the cavern. "These birds ... they can't just be here for decoration.*"

"They're not birds!" Harry said suddenly. "They're _keys!_ Winged keys – look carefully. So that must mean ... *" he looked around the chamber while Hermione and Weasley squinted up at the flock of keys. " ... yes – look! Broomsticks! We've got to catch the key to the door!*"

Hermione backed away from the broomsticks as though they might bite her. "But there are _hundreds _of them!*"

Weasley examined the look on the door. "We're looking for a big, old-fashioned one – probably silver, like the handle.*"

"Brilliant," said Harry, mounting one of the brooms. Weasley had hurried over and was already off the ground and soaring overhead.

"Hermione?" said Harry. "There's another broomstick – "

"I know, Harry," Hermione muttered, ducking her head. "I – I'd rather not."

She looked up and met his eyes, and he nodded with apparent understanding. "All right. You can be on the lookout from below, yeah?"

She swallowed. "Sure."

He kicked off into the air, soaring into the midst of the cloud of keys. Hermione squinted as she gazed upward, looking for anything that could remotely fit into the door's lock. Harry and Weasley grabbed and snatched, but the bewitched keys darted and dived so quickly it was almost impossible to catch one.*

"That one!" Harry suddenly called. "That big one – there – no, there – with bright blue wings – the feathers are all crumpled on one side.*"

Hermione craned her neck upwards. "I – I can't see it!"

Weasley went speeding in the direction that Harry was pointing, crashed into the ceiling, and nearly fell off his broom.

"Careful, Weasley!" Hermione shrieked. "Are you _trying _to break your neck?"

"You get up here if it looks so easy!"

"SHUT UP!" yelled Harry. "We've got to close in on it! Ron, you come at it from above, Hermione, wave your arms around down there – yes, perfect – and I'll try and catch it. Right. NOW!"

Weasley dived and Harry streaked after it; it sped toward the wall, Harry leaned forward and with a nasty, crunching noise, pinned it against the stone with one hand.*

"I've got it!"

"Well done, Harry!" Hermione cheered, looking upward and clapping her hands wildly.

Weasley and Harry landed quickly, and Harry ran to the door, the key struggling in his hand. He rammed it into the lock and turned – it worked. The moment the lock had clicked open, the key took flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.*

"Ready?" Harry asked the other two, his hand on the door handle.*

"Harry, are you – "

"Yeah, Hermione," said Harry. "I'm sure."

She nodded, defeated.

Harry pulled the door open.

The next chamber was so dark they couldn't see anything at all. But as they stepped into it, light suddenly flooded the room to reveal an astonishing sight.*

They were standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind black chessmen, which were all taller than they were and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, way across the chamber, were the white pieces.*

Hermione shivered slightly. The white chessmen had no faces.

"Now what do we do?*" Harry asked.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Weasley. "We've got to play our way across the room.*"

Behind the white pieces, Hermione saw another door. "How?"

"I think," said Weasley. "we're going to have to be chessmen."

He walked up to a black knight and put his hand out to touch the knight's horse. At once, the stone sprang to life. The horse pawed the ground and the knight turned his helmeted head to look down at Weasley.*

"Do we – er – have to join you to get across?*"

The black knight nodded. Weasley turned to the other two.*

"This needs thinking about ...." he said. "I suppose we've got to take the place of three of the black pieces ....*"

Hermione and Harry stayed quiet, watching Weasley think. Finally he said, "Harry, you take the place of that bishop, and Granger, you go next to him instead of that castle.*"

Hermione walked to the side of the board hesitantly. "Do you know how to play chess, Weasley?"

He snorted and took the position of the far knight. "I've never been beaten," he said snobbishly. "That answer enough for you, Granger? You might be brilliant in class but I'd whip you any day in a game of chess."

"I was just asking – "

"White always plays first in chess," interrupted Weasley, peering across the board. "Yes ... look ...*"

A white pawn had moved forward two squares.*

"Let's see," said Weasley, "Harry – move diagonally four squares to the right.*"

Hermione's first real shock came when their other knight was taken. The white queen smashed him to the floor and dragged him off the board, where he lay quite still, facedown.*

"Had to let that happen," said Weasley.

"What – what sort of chess game is this?" Hermione shrieked.

"Wizard's chess," muttered Harry. He looked shaken.

"Oh, Merlin," groaned Hermione. "We're going to die."

"Cool it, Granger," Weasley said. "Take the bishop, then. Go on."

She moved forward warily. "I – I don't have to bash it to pieces, do I?"

"Just hurry, Granger!"

Every time one of their men was lost, the white pieces showed no mercy. Soon there was a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Weasley only just noticed in time that Hermione and Harry were in danger. He himself darted around the board, taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.*

"We're nearly there," he muttered suddenly, "Let me think – let me think ...*"

Hermione's eyes flickered toward the door across the room.

"All right," said Weasley softly. "I've got to be taken."

"What?" Hermione cried, whirling to look at him.

"NO!" shouted Harry.

"That's chess," snapped Weasley. "You've got to make some sacrifices! I take one step forward and she'll take me – that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!*"

"But – "

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?*"

"Not that I'm sure you care, but it's You-Know-Who who's after it," Hermione moaned. "Which is _infinitely _worse than Professor Snape!"

"Ron – "

"Look, if you don't hurry up, the Stone will be gone."

There was no alternative.

"Ready?" called Weasley. His face was pale but determined. "Here I go – now, don't hang around once you've won.*"

He stepped forward, and the white queen pounced. She struck Weasley hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashed to the floor – Hermione screamed but stayed on her square – the white queen dragged Weasley to one side. He looked as if he'd been knocked out.*

Shaking, Harry moved three spaces to the left.*

The white king took off his crown and threw it at Harry's feet. They had won. The chessmen parted and bowed, leaving the door ahead clear.*

"What if he's –?"

"He'll be all right," said Harry, though he sounded uncertain. "We've got to get to the Stone. What do you reckon's next?"

"We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare; Flitwick must've put charms on the keys; McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive; that leaves Quirrell's spell, and Professor Snape's ...*"

They reached another door.

"All right?*" Harry whispered.

"Go on.*"

A disgusting smell filled their nostrils, making both of them pull their robes up over their noses. Eyes watering, they saw, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they had tackled, out cold with a bloody lump on its head.*

"I'm going to gag," Hermione muttered. Her voice was muffled from her robe.

"At least we don't have to fight it." He stepped over one of its massive legs. "Come on, I can't breathe.*"

He pulled open the next door, both of them hardly daring to look at what came next – but there was nothing frightening in the room, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.*

"Snape's," said Harry. "What do we have to do?*"

They stepped over the threshold, and immediately a fire sprang up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shot up in the doorway leading onward. They were trapped.*

"Look!" Hermione seized a roll of paper lying next to the bottles.

"Read it out loud!"

"_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.*"_

"Killers!" shouted Harry.

"Hush up!" Hermione yelled. "Let me finish!"

_"Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first_

_sight.*"_

Hermione looked up at Harry and smiled. "_Brilliant_. This isn't magic – it's logic – a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever.*"

Harry appeared crestfallen. "But so will we, won't we?*"

"Of course not. Everything we need is here on this paper. Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple.*"

"But how do we know which to drink?*"

"Give me a minute.*"

Hermione read the paper several times. Then she walked up and down the line of bottles, muttering to herself and pointing at them. At last, she clapped her hands.*

"Got it," she said. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire – toward the Stone.*"

Harry looked at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough there for one of us," he said. "That's hardly one swallow.*"

They looked at each other.

"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?*"

Hermione pointed at a rounded bottle at the right end of the line.*

"You drink that," said Harry. "No, listen, go back and get Ron. Grab the brooms from the flying-key room, they'll get you out of the trapdoor and past Fluffy – go straight to the owlery and send Hedwig – she's all white, you can't miss her – to Dumbledore. We need him. I might be able to hold Snape off for a while, but I'm not a match for him, really.*"

Hermione stepped close to him. "Please, Harry, you told me once that we were friends, and friends need to trust each other." He blinked, looking at her warily. "Professor Snape is _not _after the Stone, Harry. I swear it. It's You-Know-Who. That's who has gotten past all these enchantments." She swallowed and looked at him desperately, grabbing the excess material of his sleeve with her fingers. "Please, can't you see how dangerous this is?"

He looked over at her for a long moment, and then pointed to his scar. "Well, I was lucky once, wasn't I? I might get lucky again.*"

Hermione's lip trembled. "But I've heard he was just _awful_ – oh, Harry!" He threw her arms around him.

"_Hermione!_" Harry protested. "Look, the sooner you leave me the sooner you can go get help, all right? Voldemort can't get to the Stone and get his power back. I need to stop him."

"Harry – "

"Go, Hermione."

She nodded and let go of him. "Harry – please, _be careful._"

"You drink first," said Harry. "You are sure which is which, aren't you?*"

"Positive," said Hermione. She took a long drink from the round bottle at the end, and shuddered.*

"It's not poison?*" said Harry anxiously.

"No – but it's like ice.*"

"Quick, go, before it wears off.*"

"Good luck – take care – *"

"GO!"

Hermione turned and walked straight through the purple fire.* The stench of the troll seemed to be worse. She dry-heaved twice before she managed to cover her nose and mouth with her sleeve, hurrying around the unconscious body of the enormous troll.

_Please stay asleep. Please stay asleep. Please stay asleep._

The chess room looked just as she had left it; Weasley lay still where the queen had dragged him, his head lolled to the side.

"Weasley!" Hermione rushed over to him. "Weasley! Are you all right?"

He didn't move. There was a deep gash on his forehead. "Weasley?" She knelt beside him and dusted the stone rubble off his robes, shaking him lightly. "Weasley, _please_. Wake up! Harry's in trouble and we need to send an owl to Dumbledore!"

He groaned deeply but didn't open his eyes. "Ugh, _come on_, Weasley!" She tried to prop him up from under his elbows to see if she could drag him back to the key-room, but he was too heavy. Having scarcely levitated anything heavier than a feather, she didn't trust the charm in case she dropped him flat on his face and caused him even more damage.

"WEASLEY!" Without thinking, without knowing what she was doing, she knelt beside him and slapped him squarely on the jaw.

"Bloody hell!" gasped Weasley. He opened his eyes and winced, looking up at Hermione indignantly. "What the bloody hell was that for, Granger?"

Hermione almost thought she would throw herself at him. Thankfully, she restrained herself and merely grinned widely. "You weren't coming around and I can't carry you – "

"Where's Harry?"

"He got through. We've got to send word to Dumbledore. Do you think you can stand?"

"Yeah," he muttered. "Ugh, help me up."

She gave him her hand and hoisted as hard as she could. "Can you walk, do you think?"

"Yes, Granger, now stop babying me." He teetered slightly but retained his balance. "The owlery's a long ways off. We've got to hurry."

"Here, lean on my shoulder."

"Granger – "

"Oh, for Merlin's sakes, Weasley! I don't have cooties because I'm a girl or because I'm a Slytherin! Now, you're not walking properly, so you can either lean on my shoulder and we can go faster, or you can take your time and Harry can get killed by You-Know-Who!"

He blinked and was quiet for a moment. "Right then. Get over here if you want to help, Granger. Let's go."

The journey through the chess and key-rooms was slow, a quest in and of itself. Weasley felt heavier with each step.

"Can you fly, do you think?"

They were at the edge of the key-room. Weasley looked up at the flying keys. The gash on his head seemed to be worse.

"I'll have to, won't I? There's no other way up except past the Devil's Snare tunnel of hell." He paused. "Merlin, I hope Fluffy is still sleeping."

"Can two people fit on one broom?"

He snorted. "I can fly by myself just fine, Granger – "

"I – I know _you _can."

"Oh." He looked over at Hermione as though he had never seen her before. "Er, well," he scratched the back of his ginger hair and winced. "I can take us both, I guess."

"You're sure?" Hermione asked hopefully.

He walked over on his own accord to grab one of the brooms. "As long as you don't lean back too far or shift your weight around," he shrugged, "should be easy."

Hermione nodded a little too quickly. "O-Okay."

"Listen, Granger," said Weasley, holding the broom out for her, "you won't fall. It's not far. Maybe ... maybe you should have your wand out, though – you know, in case Fluffy's awake."

"All right." She brandished her wand and gripped it tightly.

"Just put your right leg over. Now the left." Weasley climbed on in front of her. "All right, then?"

Hermione closed her eyes. "M'fine."

"Here we go."

Her stomach tightened as the world dropped away. Her arms convulsed around him for a moment.

"Still there, Granger?" Weasley laughed.

"Just hurry," Hermione begged. "We've got to get help for Harry."

They soared through the cold passageway and into the chamber with the Devil's Snare. Weasley wisely kept his distance, angling them upward and upward as they approached the trapdoor.

"Got your wand ready?"

She was mildly surprised he couldn't feel it digging into his ribcage, but she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I've got it."

"Right. Up we go, then."

Hermione strained her ears to hear any growling or barking, but all appeared silent above. The fit through the trap door with two people on a broom appeared trickier than simply falling through had been. Weasley carefully slowed their speed as they rose and then hovered for a moment.

"I don't know if we can fit."

"What? Are you serious?"

Weasley twisted around to look at her. "We'll have to go almost completely vertically if we're going to do it with both of us on a broom." He tilted one of his hands to demonstrate what he meant. "It'll only be for a second, but you'll have to hang on really tight."

"But – "

"I'll need to go fast – I doubt these school brooms can handle two people at that angle for long."

Hermione swallowed thickly. "Okay. Okay, I get it; just – go."

"_Tight_, Granger!" Weasley pulled her arms around his waist. "I mean it, or you'll fall!"

Hermione scooted closer and held on as tightly as she was able.

"Merlin, Granger," Weasley choked, "don't squeeze me to death."

"Just go, Weasley. GO!"

And they shot upward. Weasley's acceleration was fierce and hard. Sure enough, after only a few seconds, they were suddenly at a vertical angle. Hermione immediately felt herself slipping.

"HANG ON!"

Her hands locked around Weasley's midsection as they burst into Fluffy's room. Not able to hold two riders at such an odd angle, the broom swerved unstably as Weasley tried to level it out, throwing them both to the ground. They landed on the floor awkwardly. Weasley hit the ground and kept rolling until he smashed into an oddly shaped object, and Hermione connected with the flood hard and stopped abruptly.

"Perfect," muttered Weasley, holding his head and slowly propping himself up. "Granger?" he winced. "You all right?"

Hermione groaned. "Ugh, I – I think so." She pushed herself to a sitting position and looked warily around the room. Suddenly, she gasped. "Weasley! Look!"

He whirled around. The object he had collided with was the harp; it was playing, despite leaning half on its side. Fluffy was sound asleep in the corner of the room, oblivious to the commotion around it.

"The harp," Weasley sputtered, "but, it wasn't playing before – "

And then he whirled around at a sound by the doorway. His blue eyes widened into circles.

"P-Professor Snape?"

* * *

_A/N: Only a little bit more and we'll be out of PS and onto CoS! I'm quite excited! I was overwhelmed by the review response to the last chapter - thank you. Sincerely. Reviews are oddly exciting for me. Have at it and let me know what you thought of this chapter. Sorry for the minimal SS/HG interaction, but just know that there's always more to come. :) _

_Special thanks, again, to my beta, borgprincess. (Yay!)_

_And a little reminder that you can always check my livejournal account (lizard25 over there) to see how far a chapter is coming ... etc. I tend to update that when I make headway in my writing. :) Just let me know who you are if you want to friend me. :)_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**

* * *

  
**

Severus was halfway up the stairs before he wondered if Albus would be in his office. The Headmaster had been unusually busy as of late, and though Severus would never admit it to anyone besides himself, he had come to value the old man's vast magical knowledge and, on rare occasions, advice. Recent events aside, Albus understood a great deal about him. Where certain ... _delicate _matters were concerned, he was well and truly the only person he could talk to.

"Severus," came Albus' voice before he had even knocked on the door. "I thought that might be you. Come in, my friend."

Severus pushed the door open and, with his typical grace, if less than his typical flare, walked into the circular room. His eyes flickered to the portraits on the wall where Headmasters past snored loudly, feigning sleep. "You're unusually observant today, Albus," he said gruffly. He walked into the center of the room and drew up a chair.

"Oh no," said Albus amiably, straightening behind his massive claw-footed desk and dipping a quill, "I merely heard the stairs moving, Severus. As I was not expecting anyone, I could only assume it was you."

"Indeed?"

Albus looked up at him and smiled. "Quite so, dear boy. Unfortunately, none of the other professors seek me out for conversation the way you do. Biscuit?" The tin tray he pushed forward was brimming over with treats.

Severus eyed the tray distastefully. "Have I ever, Albus, accepted a _biscuit_ from you?"

The Headmaster deposited his quill into a silver ink pot and picked one of the treats up with his thumb and forefinger, studying it closely. "Have you ever heard the Muggle expression, 'There's always a first time for everything', Severus? Quite ingenious, really." He chuckled cheerfully and popped the biscuit into his mouth. "I daresay I shall keep asking until you accept."

"You waste your time, Albus."

The Headmaster chewed thoughtfully, spilling a few crumbs onto his white beard. "It's neither here nor there, I'm sure, but I suspect you have come to me with a purpose other than refusing hospitality." He removed his spectacles and proceeded to clean the lenses with the excess material of his sleeves. "What is the trouble?"

Severus sat perfectly straight and still in his chair. "There are things which need to be discussed, Albus."

"Very well, Severus. I am listening, though I should forewarn you that I must away to the Ministry within the hour."

Severus balled his hands into tight fists. His voice was dangerously soft. "This far exceeds the incompetence of whatever mess you're required to fix at the Ministry." His eyes flashed. "I wish to speak with you about the Dark Lord."

Albus looked up sharply. "You have something to add to your report of the encounter Harry and Miss Granger experienced in the Forbidden Forest?"

"You refer to Potter by his first name," Severus scowled bitterly, "and yet no other student is worthy of _that_ honor. Tell me, Albus – are you playing favorites?"

The Headmaster leaned forward. "It is an old habit, I'm afraid, where Harry is concerned. I have been much more invested in his well-being these eleven years than that of any other student – as you very well know, Severus." His voice was more commanding when he continued, "Do you have something to share with me about Lord Voldemort?"

Severus rose from the chair angrily. "How many times, Albus, have I begged you to not use that name! How many? Your foolish notions of names aside, you cannot nor will you _ever _know the effect that name has upon me!" He rolled up the sleeve on his left forearm for emphasis, showing delicate bone-white skin marked with the worst sort of curse.

"Severus," Albus said gently, "I forget myself, old friend." His gaze flickered momentarily to the Dark Mark. "Please, sit back down. I wish to hear whatever it is you have come to tell me."

It took a moment, but eventually Severus sank back into the chair. He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands.

"Quirrell," said Severus miserably.

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow, watching the younger man intently. "Have you confirmed our suspicions, Severus?"

Severus did not look up. "He ... is what you think he is, Headmaster. I am certain."

"The unicorn," Albus stated evenly, his words full of unspoken meaning.

A muscle tightened in Severus' jaw. "Yes," he whispered. "If there was any part of Quirrell truly left ... it – disappeared with the murder of the first unicorn. Even if we _had _known how to save him from being the Dark Lord's host, it is ... well beyond that hope now."

Albus leaned back in his chair, returning his spectacles to the bridge of his crooked nose. Finally, he said, "Thank you, Severus. Your service to me has proved, once again, to be invaluable."

Severus raised his head and focused his black eyes forward. "And what is your plan, Albus?"

"To keep my friends close and my enemies closer, dear boy."

Severus sneered. "You have a death wish, then – or one for Potter."

"No, I do not think so, Severus. Harry is a good boy – "

"He is no such thing! It is Granger who tries to speak sense to him!"

Albus raised his eyes to look at him. He played with his beard thoughtfully, scattering some of the crumbs that had fallen there eariler. "Undoubtedly," he agreed after a moment. "I believe we should be grateful for Miss Granger's continued friendship with Harry."

There was a lapse in conversation as Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. The room was silent but for the Headmaster's curious, spinning instruments that puffed smoke and whirled loudly at random moments. "I do not understand you, Albus. You know Potter is aware of the Stone and you know he suspects me. You _know_ what Quirrell is." He stared at the Headmaster, incredulous. "Need I speak more to you, Dumbledore? It is only a matter of time before Potter foolishly decides to take matters into his own hands! You yourself have just told me of your invested interest in the boy – of how you've watched him these many years. _Surely_ you understand he will act rashly."

"Severus," said Albus brightly, "we must trust in that most wonderful gift which is free agency."

"Free agency?" Severus spat, incredulous. "Then explain my purpose here in protecting the brat! Where is _my _agency?"

"You have already made your choice, Severus," answered Albus gently. His lips twitched beneath his beard. "A fact which you very well know."

"You mock me, then. What is this _agency _you profess? You expect Potter to follow the rules as much as any other professor – as much as _Minerva_ would. What _you_ are doing, Albus, is dangling the boy for bait."

"Severus – "

Real anger flowed from him now. "You have always kept your cards very close to your vest, Dumbledore. I am at your service, such as it is, and yet you insist on keeping your designs private even from me! But I am far from foolish." He stood up and began pacing. "The labyrinth beneath the school – naturally the Dark Lord is sorely tempted. You yourself _allowed _Quirrell to place one of the enchantments in an attempt to provoke him. Tell me, Albus, your frequent and erratic visits to the Ministry – were those merely your way of luring Quirrell to that end? Knowing he would be all too eager to act the moment he knew you were absent? To _trap_ him?"

The Headmaster blinked innocently and reached for another biscuit.

"The Dark Lord need not be fully in power for him to be dangerous," Severus sneered. "And you appear to have a childlike disinterest in that."

"Enough!" ordered the Headmaster sternly. His eyes flashed angrily as his voice rang out, echoing ominously in the otherwise silence. For a moment, Severus was frightened; Albus Dumbledore could be a formidable wizard when he wished to be. The Dark Lord, even, had known that. "I have my own reasons in this, Severus."

The Headmaster's gaze was heavy, and Severus eventually looked away. "You always do, Albus." He rose from the chair and made for the oak door. "I believe I have endured as much conversation as I can for one night."

"Severus," said Albus, not unkindly. "I ask you to trust me."

Severus snorted and reached for the brass handle. "As I have asked you to trust me."

* * *

Later that evening, stalking through the dungeons, Severus listened for a rustle, a voice, a noise – anything that might indicate a student was where they ought not to be. But nothing came. Silently, he flicked his wand and light burst from it, blinding his eyes as he walked toward the Slytherin common room. The moment his vision adjusted, he waved his wand carefully in front of him to better see in the otherwise dark corridor.

He felt unusually alert. Whether it was the knowledge of Quirrell's involvement with the Dark Lord or something else entirely, he did not know. But _something_ probed at the edge of his consciousness. Something insistent and real. There was no point in denying it. His instincts had saved his life on more than one occasion; he wasn't so foolish as to ignore that now.

This much he was certain of: Quirrell – and subsequently, the Dark Lord – was after the Sorcerer's Stone.

He hurried through the trapdoor to check on his charges before he returned to his own quarters. What he saw made him jerk inadvertently.

"Miss – Parkinson?" His voice faltered.

The girl was lying on the floor, completely immobilized. Her eyes blinked up at him in horror, though her body remained perfectly still. He rushed forward and knelt over her, muttering the counter-curse as he lifted her to a sitting position.

"Who did this?" he demanded, the moment she regained function in her jaw.

She swallowed twice and rubbed her throat, coaxing her vocal cords to life. "Hermione, sir. It was Hermione Granger."

Whatever Severus was expecting to hear, it certainly wasn't that. "Miss – Miss Granger?" he repeated stupidly.

Parkinson nodded and made to stand. "Yes, sir. She left hours ago. She was sneaking out again – trying to lose Slytherin points," she pouted pathetically, "like_ always_."

Severus started. "Explain."

Parkinson shrugged. She proceeded to dust off her night robes and ran a hand through her hair – which was, at present, sticking up wildly in every direction. "That's all she said. Oh – and that she'd been looking for you. She hasn't come back yet. No one's been in the common room and I've been laying here for _hours_ – "

He felt himself grimace. He grabbed the girl's shoulders roughly – more harshly than he intended to – and said in a rush, "You're certain she didn't say anything else? Where she could have gone – what she was planning to do?"

Parkinson appeared frightened. She shrank back from him. "No, sir." She shook her head. "Only that she thought it was important. I'm sure it could have waited until morning – when we're _allowed _to be out in the halls."

Severus removed his hands from the girl as though they'd been burned. He stood quickly and drew his wand. "Back to your dormitory, Miss Parkinson." He turned to leave.

"But sir!"

He whirled around. "Are you at all injured?"

"N-No, sir."

"Then get back to bed."

He was certain she was staring after him, at the injustice of it all. He didn't care. The fact that Granger was yet _again _violating another school rule meant only one thing to him: Potter was involved. And if the precious Boy-Who-Lived was recruiting Granger for another asinine scheme, he was certain that it had to do with the Stone.

Hurrying through the dungeons, half-running, he cursed himself for a fool.

_You've placed the girl directly in harm's way. Potter's long down the trapdoor by now, and Granger –_

He shook his head and shot up the stairs. If the girl had been harmed because she had followed _his _instructions .... No. He refused to allow his mind to wander any further. The very thought made him nauseous. He had never intended for her to take his request literally. He had merely wished for her to try to talk some sense into Potter's thick, thick skull.

Anxiety jolted in his chest. Did she or Potter know how to get past the three-headed beast? And if so, what of the other enchantments? Devil's Snare could easily kill a man – he trusted Granger had read how to defeat it in Herbology – but could the girl think on her feet?

He ran through the Entrance Hall like a madman, his robes fanning out like a banner. The ghosts floating around lazily cursed at him emphatically as he barreled forward. As he ran, he visualized each of the enchantments beneath the castle, creating a mental checklist of the tasks required to reach the Stone. Almost immediately, he winced. Minerva's chessboard would require the most amount of time. He only prayed Potter was as pitiful at chess as he was Potions.

The marble steps streaked away beneath him as he climbed upwards still, and by the time he reached the third floor he was all but gasping for breath. Ignoring a rather painful stitch in his side, he continued at an urgent pace as he flew down the corridor, coming to an abrupt stop in front of an already half-opened door.

"Dammit," he cursed, his chest heaving.

With his wand pointed ahead of him, he cautiously pushed the door open the remainder of the way and peered inside.

The huge dog growled and snapped at him immediately, lunging forward with three sets of massive teeth. Severus side-stepped it and backed toward the wall – eyes scanning for the harp. Rationally speaking, he was surprised the entire school hadn't awoken from the noise. And then, of course, his mind caught up with itself: Albus, at least, had retained the foresight to cast a silencing charm in the chamber.

The beast dived forward and Severus dodged to the left, rolling head-over-feet to get out of the way. He came up in a crouch and searched the room wildly.

_The harp!_

At last he spotted it – turned over on its side in the corner of the room; it glinted as beautifully as any diamond in the rough. He flicked his wand at it as the beast lunged for him again, and immediately the sound of a slow-spreading tune filled the chamber. The dog lurched to a stop mid-lunge and blinked down at him weirdly, and six bloodshot eyes began to slowly droop.

With his chest heaving, Severus slowly rose to his feet, keeping his wand trained on the beast until all three of its heads fell to the ground. One of the mouths fell slack, and a tongue rolled out. The other two began to snore.

But before Severus could make it two steps toward the trapdoor, something burst out of it.

His hand flew to protect his eyes out of instinct, and when he blinked again he saw two bodies tumble across the room, even as a broom zoomed to a crash and snapped with a sickening finality against the far wall. He turned back to the trapdoor, recognizing the form of Miss Granger immediately.

It was Weasley, however, who spoke before Severus could assess any damage. "P-Professor Snape?"

Ignoring the boy, he rushed forward to Miss Granger, who was looking around the chamber dazedly.

"Miss Granger, are you injured?" He was mildly surprised by the slight panic of his voice. He crouched down beside her and stared at her face, searching for any visible sign of trauma to her little body.

She blinked slowly and looked up at him. "Professor Snape?"

He nodded. "Yes. Are you at all hurt?"

She looked down at herself as though she were taking stock. She flexed her hands and stretched her legs. "I – I don't think so."

Something unclenched inside him. He glanced over at the boy. "Weasley?"

Mr. Weasley was looking at him as though he too, like the dog, had three heads. His gaping mouth and wide eyes would have been comical but for the current situation.

"Weasley!" Severus shouted, annoyed. "If you are capable of speaking, do so. Where is your wand, boy? You own it for a reason."

"I, er – "

"Your incompetence astounds me, Weasley. _Are you injured?_"

"He hit his head," said Miss Granger from beside him. Her voice was low and quiet. "I think he was knocked out."

Severus considered this. "And Potter?"

The girl ducked her head to her chest, ashamed. "He's gone to get the Stone b-before You-Know-Who can get it."

Severus felt hysteria creeping into him. "How far – look at me, girl! How far did Potter get?"

She sniffled miserably and ran the back of her hand across her nose. "As far as you could go, sir. He – drank the potion to walk through the black flames when I left him and, oh –Professor Snape! I'm so sorry! I tried to tell him it wasn't you. I really did! He – he wouldn't believe me!"

_Curse the boy and all Gryffindors._

Miss Granger continued to murmur incomprehensibly as tears slid down her cheeks.

"Miss Granger," he said finally, filling his voice with authority. "Cease your blubbering this instant. You have more sense than this." She blinked and looked up at him, her brown eyes dark and tortured. "You are to get yourself and Mr. Weasley to the Hospital Wing. You will go _nowhere else_. Inform Madam Pomfrey of what has transpired and wait for me there. Do not speak with or acknowledge anyone apart from Professor McGonagall, should you chance upon her. Do you understand?"

She hesitated and then nodded. "Yes, sir. But Professor Dumbledore – "

"The Hospital Wing," he ground out. "_Now_, Miss Granger."

She blinked. Her eyelashes were wet with unshed tears. "Yes, Professor."

He helped her up, taking her small hand in his and pulling with little effort. She stumbled slightly; he caught her elbow.

"Weasley?" The boy had been mostly silent through the entire exchange. In any other circumstance, Severus would have found the lack of noise refreshing. Given the fact the boy likely had a concussion, however, he quelled his gratitude.

Weasley blinked with confusion. "Harry – "

"Get yourself to the Hospital Wing, Weasley," Severus said, crisply. "I will take care of your precious Potter."

Severus moved quickly though the room toward the trapdoor, carefully avoiding one of the dog's massive paws. "_Lumos!" _He directed the light of his wand down the dark shaft of the trapdoor and peered inside.

"Professor Snape?"

He looked up. Miss Granger's voice sounded small and pathetic in the echoing chamber. Weasley, he saw, was now standing, at least, though he leaned heavily on her for support.

"What is it, Miss Granger?" he snapped.

Even from this distance he could see her chewing on her lower lip. "Er, please, sir – be careful."

Severus grew very still. He held her gaze for a few heartbeats, and then he took a breath, and jumped through the trapdoor.

* * *

"Weasley, did you – _ow –_ hurt your leg as well?"

They hadn't even made it to the stairs and Hermione was already sweating. She had lost count of the times Weasley had stepped on her foot.

"Huh?"

He leaned on her heavily, one arm draped about her neck while the other flopped uselessly to his side.

"I asked if you hurt your leg," she breathed. "You're – leaning more than when we were down the trapdoor." He had a few inches on her, and in the lull of the bleak night Hermione half-carried him awkwardly through the dark corridor.

"Nah, m'fine, Granger. Really." He seemed disoriented. Dazed. Hermione wasn't sure that he was truly aware of his surroundings.

_He seemed well enough down the trapdoor. How do concussions work, exactly?_

She grunted, trying to shift his weight against her. "I think you have a concussion, Weasley. You've a nasty bump on the side of your head behind that gash, and – "

"You're really wonderful, Granger. Have I ever told you?" His face took on the air of complete befuddlement; his lips twisted into a lopsided smile. "_Wonderful._"

If her face registered surprise, Weasley certainly didn't see it. "You're – mad, Weasley. What's wrong with you? You flew us out of the trapdoor! And now – " she grunted. "Can you take the stairs, do you think?" They had finally arrived at the marble staircase. "We've still got to go down two floors – "

"What _is_ going on here?" A familiar voice, laced with stern suspicion rang out loudly.

Without brushing her bangs out of her face, Hermione looked up. "Professor – McGonagall?" She felt a slow-spreading relief seep into her aching bones.

The Gryffindor Head of House was glaring down at them, looking very angry, indeed. She wore a tartan bathrobe which she clutched firmly to her chest with one fist, while her wand was clasped tightly in the other hand; light burst from it and created a harsh contrast against the otherwise dark surroundings. "I suggest the both of you explain yourselves _this instant._"

"Professor – "

"And you better make it good, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall warned, shaking her wand at her. "I'm sorely tempted to expel you both on the spot for deliberately disobeying school rules yet _again_. No, do _not _interrupt. I don't care if you _are _the brightest first-year student the school has seen, your flagrant disregard for rules and authority supersedes anything you can write on parchment, Miss Granger."

"Please, Professor," Hermione begged, nearly collapsing under Weasley's weight, "You don't understand. Professor Snape asked me to take Weasley to the Hospital Wing. He's got a concussion."

The lines between Professor McGonagall's forehead disappeared, though she was still frowning intensely. With a nearly inaudible _tisk_ under her breath, she moved her wand light around Weasley's head and gasped quite suddenly, adjusting her glasses as she peered closer at him. "What on earth happened?" she demanded.

Weasley groaned and sank further against Hermione. "Professor Snape's gone down the trapdoor to stop Harry from getting himself killed," Hermione explained, locking her knees to support the boy. "You-Know-Who is trying to get the Sorcerer's Stone, you see, and Harry thought he could get to it first – you know. And stop him."

Professor McGonagall stared at them blankly for a moment. "Potter's gone ... after the Stone?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Please, ma'am, is Professor Dumbledore back from the Ministry? You-Know-Who is down there or _will be _down there and – Professor McGonagall! Where are you going?"

The Gryffindor Head of House was moving faster than Hermione would have ever given her credit for, back up the marble stairs.

"Professor!"

"Get Mr. Weasley to the Hospital Wing, Miss Granger! I will do what I can to contact Professor Dumbledore."

"But what about Professor Snape?" Hermione cried. "Someone needs to go help him! Oh – Professor McGonagall! Wait!"

"Granger," said Weasely dreamily, half-hanging off her shoulder, "I feel ... really bad."

Hermione, who was still staring at the space Professor McGonagall had only just occupied, blinked slowly and looked up at him. The gash on his forehead continued to seep; there was a steady stream of red dripping into one eye.

"Come on, Weasley," Hermione groaned, adjusting her grip on his waist, "we've got to get you to Madam Pomfrey. Can you help me walk a little, do you think?"

Weasley, in whatever state of consciousness he was currently in, seemed to consider that. In the end, he rolled his head to the side, which was the closest thing to a shrug Hermione would receive.

"You smell like honey," he said, slurring the words together, "and ... old Quidditch shoes."

Hermione, doing her best to not be offended, dragged Weasley down the stairs to the first floor. With a great deal of effort, she stopped outside the Hospital Wing doors and leaned against the cool stone wall, wiping her brow with the back of her free hand. Finally, after she caught her breath, she kicked one of the doors with her left foot so it opened a little, still supporting Weasley with the weight of her right leg.

"Madam Pomfrey?" she called as the door swung on its way back to a close. "Please, are you in there? We need help!"

Silence.

Hermione grunted, and kicked at the door again, leaning in closer. "Madam Pomfrey! Please, I've got Wea – er, Ron Weasley here. He's got a nasty cut on his head! I need some – "

She cut herself off when she heard footsteps hurrying toward them. An instant later, the doors swung outwards and a very disheveled-looking Madam Pomfrey stood before them, adjusting her night cap and blinking furiously into the dark corridor.

"What's the trouble?" she asked immediately, once she caught sight of them. And then her gaze honed in on Weasley's forehead like a Seeker to the Snitch. "Good gracious! In here – yes. Oh, dear me, I'll levitate him, you poor thing. No, you're coming in here too, Miss Granger. That's right. Come along."

Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand at Weasley and Hermione nearly sank to the floor in relief once she felt the release of his weight. The mediwitch carefully guided Weasley to the nearest bed and lowered him with delicate precision onto pristine white sheets.

"Is – is Weasley going to be all right?"

"I'll patch him right up, Miss Granger. What happened to the poor thing? Not to worry," she said quickly, cutting Hermione off from any explanation, "I'll have him up and on his feet again in no time."

Madam Pomfrey proceeded to bustle around Weasley's bed, muttering and complaining about students getting contusions and who knew what else all while under her watch. She skillfully waved her wand this way and that before hurrying across the room to a cabinet that housed a variety of colorful potions and vials.

Hermione sank into a straight, hard-backed chair at the opposite wall and watched with a vague sense of interest. Her mind kept wandering back to the third floor – to Harry and Professor Snape.

What if You-Know-Who reached the Stone before Harry? Would Harry know what to do? True, he had survived an encounter with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a baby but ... would he be that lucky again? And what about Professor Snape?

Involuntarily, she imagined him down there, rushing like a madman to find Harry. Unbidden, a little bubble of _something _swelled in her chest. Professor Snape had never been after the Stone. After all Harry's accusations and ridiculous prejudices, he had only been trying to keep them safe. The thought made her want to cry with joy. But ... was _he _safe?

"Madam," Hermione said quietly, watching as a blue pulse of magic surrounded Weasley, "I think that Professor Sna – er, what _is _that?"

"A diagnostic, dear. And once Mr. Weasley is all sorted, I'm running one on you as well. You look as though you've seen a dementor." She looked utterly frustrated by the thought of it.

"A – what?" The term was vaguely familiar, though for the life of her, Hermione couldn't pinpoint the exact definition in her current state of ... whatever it was she was in.

"Never mind, child. Why don't you lie down on a bed? I'll only be a few more moments."

Hermione slid off the chair with little grace and shuffled across the room toward the nearest bed. She pushed herself up onto the mattress, but didn't lie down.

"Madam Pomfrey?" she asked, after a particularly long pause, "You should know there's a chance that ... Harry Potter and Professor Snape could be injured as well. I – "

"Injured?" the mediwitch sputtered, turning around sharply and fixing her gaze on Hermione. "Whatever gives you that impression?"

Hermione blew out a breath in frustration and fell back on the bed, blinking up at the ribbed ceiling. She felt the keen exhaustion of the past few hours like a literal weight on her chest. "Weasley got hit by one of those giant chess pieces below the school," she began. She covered her eyes with her hands and groaned. "Harry was trying to stop You-Know-Who from stealing the Sorcerer's Stone – and we all went down the trapdoor to help him. Professor Snape must have found out somehow – he was there when Weasley and I made it back up. He went after Harry to stop him from getting himself killed." Her voice faltered. "I – I don't know what's happened; I don't know if they're all right."

Madam Pomfrey blinked. "Mr. Potter," she said slowly, "knows about the – Sorcerer's Stone?"

"Yes." Hermione flinched, and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Can't someone do _something_? Professor McGonagall said she would try to fetch the Headmaster but – "

"That's quite enough, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey interrupted, striding towards her. Opening her eyes, Hermione saw Weasley asleep beneath the covers of his bed. "You've clearly been through an ordeal, and I won't hear another word of it."

"But – "

"I'm very serious, Miss Granger," the mediwitch scowled, hovering over her and beginning a complex series of motions with her wand, "those who can help are already doing so, it seems. I will be prepared to deal with any injuries as they come, and you – you will stop worrying yourself into a state. When was the last time you had a proper night's rest?"

"Well, I – " She pressed her eyelids tightly together and then tried to open them wide. "I didn't get much sleep last night ... or this last week, I suppose. We've all had our end-of-year examinations and I – I suppose I've been studying during a good portion of the night."

"Miss Granger," Madame Pomfrey said insistently, after stifling a small gasp, "You are in need of Dreamless Sleep Potion and a Calming Draught. Furthermore, it appears you've been neglecting your meals on top of everything else – you're skin and bones!" She was running the same diagnostic as she had on Weasley; a pulse of blue magic surrounded Hermione, tingling warmly over her skin. "You're doing yourself no favors by starving yourself, Miss Granger. Your exam results will mean very little in the long run if you have to be hospitalized." Her voice was stern and angry.

"I'm – I'm going to be hospitalized?"

The mediwitch frowned, as though she were considering the possibility. "Not if I have anything to do with it," she said eventually. "But you're getting some sleep this instant – yes, get under the covers, dear. And I'm having the house elves fix you a hearty meal for when you wake."

Two little vials were pressed into her hands as Madam Pomfrey reached under the covers to remove Hermione's shoes. "Drink the blue one first. It's the Calming Draught. Yes, the whole thing. And then the Dreamless Sleep straight after."

Hermione brought the vial to her lips and tipped her head back. It was sweet, and not at all unpleasant. She immediately slumped in silent relief.

"Now the Dreamless Sleep," Madam Pomfrey was saying. She conjured a chair and put Hermione's shoes atop the cushion.

Obediently, Hermione drank the contents the second vial. A second later, when she was too exhausted to move, Madam Pomfrey took the empty little glasses out of her hands and fixed the covers high up around her chin.

"That's right, dear," the mediwitch said while she bustled around her bed, and Hermione's eyelids hung ever heavy. "Sleep."

* * *

Severus burst through the doors to the Hospital Wing in typical, dramatic fashion. Albus followed closely behind him.

"The nearest bed, I think, Severus," the Headmaster said. "Poppy?"

Severus grumbled to himself as he carried Potter through the Hospital Wing, even as Poppy emerged from her office, looking decidedly frazzled.

"Severus? Albus? Is all well? Oh my – is that Mr Potter?"

"Yes," Severus snarled, moving around the first bed, where Weasley snored loudly. "Where do you want him, Poppy?"

She gave him an irritated look. "Here, Severus." She gestured to the bed next to Weasley's. "Of course _any_ of these will do. What's wrong with the boy?"

Severus remained silent as he moved to where Poppy indicated. _Let Albus answer the questions, _he thought, annoyed. Very carefully, he lowered Potter onto the bed. He kept one hand behind the boy's neck while he moved a pillow beneath it. An instant later he stepped backwards, utterly horrified. Had he gone mad? Much of the pain and anger of his past had been associated with _this _boy – and here he was, fluffing a pillow for the brat. And as if that wasn't enough, the idiot had nearly gotten himself killed – along with two other students tonight. _Not to mention_ himself.

"He had a most unfortunate run in with something very evil, Poppy," Albus was saying.

"Don't you dare be vague with me, Albus," Poppy said icily. "I need to know exactly what happened so I can properly treat the boy – "

"Only insofar as it is concerned with his well-being, my dear Poppy," Albus interrupted conversationally.

"Albus," Poppy snapped, "Miss Granger already informed me that You-Know-Who was beneath the school – though Merlin knows how _that_ came to be." She gave Albus a dirty glare, as though she held him personally responsible. "Tell me, was there any Dark magic involved?"

The Headmaster sighed wearily and conjured a chair to sit beside Potter's bed. "There are marks on his arms from where Quirrell grabbed him. I would begin there, Poppy. Perhaps take a look at his scar."

Poppy looked at him blankly. "His – scar?"

Albus shrugged, though there was obvious meaning in that small action.

Severus scowled and turned away from the group, and his eyes scanned the room until he caught sight of a little body beneath white sheets. His heartbeat quickened anxiously as he moved hurriedly forward.

Miss Granger's mass of hair was splayed out across her pillow and she was turned away from him, folded in on herself into an impossibly tiny ball of female. The scratches and red marks he had noticed on her face when he had seen her earlier were now gone – healed, evidently, by Poppy.

He felt a sudden flare of panic at the thought that he could have lost her, one of his students, this night. Had he not promised her parents and Albus to keep her safe? _Had he not promised himself?_ And yet, because of his own foolishness and carelessness, it was _he_ who had sent the girl into a deathtrap. He was utterly disgusted with himself. The thought made him want to literally vomit. Standing there, staring down at her helplessly, he _Accio'd_ a chair from the far side of the room and sank down into it.

Looking down at her carefully, watching her chest slowly rise and fall beneath the sheets, he wondered how she could appear so incredibly unthreatening and frightening to him at the same time.

Frightening because he was not entirely sure what he would have done had he failed to save her.

He held his breath for a moment, and then let it out very slowly. Naturally, he was concerned for all students within his care. As their teacher and mentor, it was his job to see to it that they were protected, and to look after their general well-being. Miss Granger, however, was ... _different_ somehow. How to explain it, to verbalize it, he didn't know. He simply knew that in his mind, he regarded her apart from the rest.

Logically, it was likely due to the fact that in a very real sense, she required more protection than the other Slytherins. She housed a dangerous secret of her true bloodline – one which, if revealed, would be potentially deadly. She was, in every sense, a complete contradiction of terms: the Muggleborn Slytherin. After nearly a year, Severus marveled at it still. In all his life he would never have expected such as thing as her. As such, it had been his duty to watch over her carefully, to make certain her parentage remained a secret.

In the process of observing her, it hadn't taken much longer than a single lesson for him to notice her mind was astonishing. He suspected her impulsive need to go above and beyond each and every assignment was her way of proving she belonged in the Wizarding world. He had known only one other Muggleborn who had strongly displayed that similar need.

But despite her overzealous desire to show off – Miss Granger _was _brilliant. He had seen it countless times in their private lessons; her clever mind absorbed every word that left his lips. Naturally skilled, she understood concepts far beyond the lessons of her year. In a way, it warmed him. Seeing a student actually grasp a concept was one thing, but to see one apply it and – dare he hope it – think on their own was something else entirely.

He hadn't seen anyone as skilled in Potions since ... _her_.

He allowed himself to compare Miss Granger to Lily – but only for a moment. The similarities were few and far between, and he was surprised he had thought to compare them at all. In the next instant he was watching her sleep again. Her little hand was curled around the sheet, as if she had pulled it close to her face.

"Severus?" Albus called out cheerfully, distracting him. "I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that Poppy believes Mr. Potter will likely make a full recovery."

He looked up and affected a bored expression. Poppy had disappeared into her office – likely to obtain some potion for Potter. "Ah, yes, Albus, how glorious it will be to have your little Gryffindor protegé amongst us once more."

Albus appeared delighted, all traces of his earlier worry from when he had intervened and stopped the possessed Quirrell were gone. "You are quite right, Severus. And how is Miss Granger doing?"

"I suspect we should ask Poppy," he replied waspishly, "given that she is her caretaker." He felt his anger flare again.

At that very moment, Poppy bustled back into the Hospital Wing, levitating a number of colorful vials and cradling an extra blanket. Having apparently overhead the tail end of their conversation, she supplied in brisk tones, "Miss Granger will be fine in due time, Severus, though the girl is seriously lacking in nutrition and suffering from sleep deprivation."

He felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord. "What?"

"The girl simply hasn't been sleeping," Poppy said as the threw the extra blanket over Potter. "And it's clear she's been eating next to nothing. She's skin and bones, the poor thing!"

Severus looked back down at Miss Granger. The one wrist bone that was exposed over the blanket jutted out rather prominently. He frowned deeply. How had he been so unobservant?

"Do you suspect," he asked carefully, "an ... eating disorder?"

Poppy looked up at him, though not without sympathy. "No, and thank heavens, Severus. From what she informed me, she's been running herself ragged these past few weeks studying for her exams. I doubt she's had a full night's rest in ages – not to mention a proper meal. I've given her Dreamless Sleep for now. The moment she awakes, I'm having the House Elves bring her something with sustenance."

Severus nodded, privately grateful he didn't have to tackle _that_ particular issue. It wasn't that he didn't care; it was simply that he would have no idea where to begin. It had been his experience that Slytherin women, in general, were rather taken with themselves.

"If Miss Granger was so foolish to starve herself in order to receive acceptable marks on her exams, then perhaps a short stay in the Hospital Wing will teach a lesson that mere discipline could not."

"Severus!" Poppy exclaimed, indignant.

"I'd wager she did better than acceptable," Albus chimed in dreamily from Potter's bedside.

Severus scowled. "You do her no favors by mollycoddling her, Poppy," he said, smoothly. "If she refuses to use what we all know to be a capable mind, then she will suffer the consequences and, dare we hope, learn from such foolhardy behavior." He rubbed his left forearm absently. "I, for one, do not wish to see her incapacitated, Poppy, though perhaps this is a lesson best learned sooner rather than later. If she neglects her health with such flippant disregard now, I daresay she will not survive as a N.E.W.T student."

Poppy frowned. "Ever the optimist, Severus."

"Ever the _realist_," he corrected.

"And how is Mr. Weasley?" Albus asked, shifting the attention from Severus' charge.

"Mr. Weasley? Oh, he'll be fine by morning, I'm sure," said Poppy. "I'd like to keep him for a day or two, of course. Concussions are tricky things." She looked down at her hands, then directed her gaze warmly at Miss Granger's sleeping form. "She dragged him the whole way hear, you know. Tiny little thing that she is." She shook her head, as if in disbelief. "A Slytherin helping a Gryffindor – I never thought I'd see the day."

"Then you are every bit as prejudiced against my House as the rest of the Wizarding world," Severus snarled.

"Oh, Severus. That's not what I meant – "

"Severus?" Albus interrupted innocently, "Would you, perhaps, join me outside for a moment? I believe we've worn out our welcome, and Misters Potter and Weasley and Miss Granger are in need of a great deal of rest, as I'm sure Poppy would agree."

Poppy frowned. "They are," she conceded, "though – I haven't had a chance to look over either of you. Are you at all injured? Miss Granger said that – "

"We are unharmed," Severus said coldly, standing from his chair. He glanced once more at Miss Granger and then moved the chair back to the wall with a quick flick of his wand.

"Well, you better not be lying – the both of you," Poppy said stiffly. She fluffed a pillow on one of the empty beds inanely. "If I find out later that either of you was hurt and you didn't tell me – don't look at me like that, Severus; you always lie about your well-being – I'll personally murder you both."

Severus suppressed a smile and bowed his head in departure. "Until then, Poppy. I trust you'll think of a clever way to do it."

"Of course," she replied passionately. "I am a Ravenclaw, after all."

Severus smirked and left the Hospital Wing. Albus had already removed himself to the corridor and was currently regarding an elaborate tapestry on the west wall, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

Even from several feet away, Severus could tell something was troubling the Headmaster. The blue eyes that always – damn them – twinkled with perpetual optimism and hope were clouded. A deep line had set up residence between two rather bushy, white eyebrows.

"Albus – "

"If you'll follow me, Severus."

They made for the stone gargoyle in relative silence. Severus took the stairs slowly, partly from his own exhaustion, and partly because he suspected Albus was just as tired as he was. Outside, the sun was dawning bright and clear, and early morning rays peeked carefully through Hogwarts' windows. It was only when they were safely ensconced in the Headmaster's office and Albus had walked in, paused, and then leaned against the front of his desk that Severus spoke.

"How is it, Albus, that the rules which govern Hogwarts never seem to apply to you?"

The Headmaster looked up wearily, though a small smile twitched beneath his beard. "Why, whatever do you mean, my boy?"

Severus walked over to a window and crossed his arms, looking out over the grounds. In the far distance, he saw the glow of Hogsmeade, still likely slumbering at this early hour. "Apparation," he said simply. "You got to Potter before I did. You informed me that you would be away at the Ministry."

Albus smiled. "I suppose being me does have its advantages, Severus."

"Don't play coy, Albus. You expect me to believe you're suddenly the bashful bride?" He snorted loudly and turned from the window. "You've never shied away from regaling the _heroic _tales of your accomplishments before." Severus was fully aware he was acting quite beyond what etiquette considered to be polite, but he was past caring. He deserved – no – he was _entitled_ to answers after everything he had done for the man. "I have never heard of anyone retaining the ability to Apparate within Hogwarts' walls."

Albus smiled wryly. "There are more important concerns at this point, Severus, namely Lord – " He paused when he saw the younger man's murderous expression. " ... Namely the man formerly known as Tom Riddle."

Severus watched the Headmaster for a long moment. He nodded.

"Good. Now, while I must commend you on rushing to save young Harry's life, it would be wise, I think, for the time being, that you stay away from the ... entity that is Tom Riddle."

Severus stared blankly. "What?"

Albus brought his long fingers to his lips and steepled them slowly, staring out at some nondescript point straight ahead of him. It was a long time before he spoke. "I do not want Tom Riddle knowing that your loyalties are with me."

Severus calculated for a moment. "You expect him to return." It was not a question.

"Tom is out there, most certainly. Perhaps searching for another body. He ... left Quirrell to die, of course."

"That – " Severus started, and then stopped himself. It was true that there had been no love lost between himself and Quirrell – _before _he had become host to the Dark Lord's soul – but seeing his crumpled, mutilated body beneath the school had done more than unnerve him. He felt sickened. Dirty. It was ... far too real.

"That," he began again, slightly more hesitant, "is the Dark Lord's way with all of his followers."

Albus nodded but didn't look at him. "Yes. Mercy was never one of Tom's finer points, was it?"

"Potter delayed his return to power," Severus said evenly, "but only delayed it."

"Yes," said Albus. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It surprised Severus that he allowed himself to appear so weak. "I think so."

"And _when _the Dark Lord returns," said Severus, walking slowly around the circumference of the room, "you'll want someone on the inside. Someone you can trust." He paused for a moment, feeling the proverbial darkness loom around him like it always did. Finally, he added, rather significantly, "_Again_."

"Yes, Severus," said Albus, returning his spectacles to the bridge of his nose. "I was grateful you were held up at the chess game and that I was able to reach Harry before you did." He pushed himself from his desk and stood tall, looking up at the portraits of Hogwarts' former Headmasters and Headmistresses. His voice took on a somber tone when he continued, "I fear that Tom will seek further retribution now that his plans have been foiled by Harry a second time. We cannot be so foolish as to think he will remain in hiding indefinitely."

"No," agreed Severus quietly, "we cannot."

The Headmaster turned from the portrait wall and regarded Severus with a look of infinite sorrow. "I fear that I must ask too much of you yet again, Severus."

Severus, for his part, did his best not to wince. Of course Albus would ask this of him. In retrospect, it bothered him that he actually had the audacity to be surprised. It was, after all, this end that he had committed to over a decade ago – to protect Potter with his very life (if it was so required), and to help destroy the Dark Lord – though properly, this time. Albus was merely reaffirming what he had already agreed to.

He supposed he should have felt some sense of fear, of loss for the life that would be taken from him. But he didn't. It was rare, really, that he felt much of anything at all anymore. And what else _did_ he have to live for?

_Nothing,_ a voice in his mind answered.

He forced himself to not think of the journey ahead. To focus, rather, on the present. Because there was one thing he was certain of in all this – and it was a certainty unlike anything that he had known before – and that was that he would be blessedly, wonderfully dead before the end unfolded.

_No man can serve two masters._

Standing there, staring into Albus' flat, hollow eyes, Severus knew that the Headmaster understood that truth as well.

"You have but to ask me, Headmaster," he said, very softly.

Albus nodded, and his shoulders rose and fell in an inaudible sigh. Behind his spectacles, his blue eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Severus – "

"Do not try to comfort_ me_, Dumbledore," Severus snapped. He lifted his wand and pointed it at him, thoroughly disgusted. "You ask this of me – this one great thing – do me the courtesy, at least, of not pretending that you are sorrowful." He half-choked on the words. "I know you are not."

"Severus," Albus tried again, reaching out to touch the younger man on the shoulder, and then evidently thinking better of it, dropping his hand to his side, "How could I be anything _apart_ from sorrowful, my boy? You undervalue yourself. You are like a son – "

"I am what you wanted me to be," Severus said coldly, cutting him off very business-like. "Nothing more."

"Severus – "

"No." Severus held up his hand firmly and shook his head. "I have no wish for pity, nor for your blubbering sentimentalities, Dumbledore. This conversation is finished. I, once again, have agreed to do what you asked me those many years ago. There is nothing further to be discussed." He stalked over to the door and then hesitated. "You _will not_ attempt to send me sweets, scarves, or any other number of inane gifts in an attempt to make yourself feel better. The first owl I see with any assortment of packages attached to it, I swear to you, Albus, I will end my employment at Hogwarts immediately, and you shall never see nor hear from me again."

And then Severus quitted the Headmaster's office, slamming the door behind him with an emphatic _bang_.

Standing alone and silent, Albus Dumbledore removed his spectacles and hung his head, rubbing his eyes wearily to wipe away any trace of tears.

"Only Merlin knows how much I care about you, Severus," he murmured.

* * *

_A/N: Well, there you have it - not a single JKR quote! It took a little longer than I anticipated, simply because I had to do some research and imagine why, possibly, Dumbledore didn't act in getting rid of Quirrell sooner given his knowledge of what he truly was. It's left a little vague in this version of things because .... I really and truly don't get Dumbledore sometimes. (if ever)_

_I was overwhelmed by the reviews last chapter. Thank you for your wonderful words! I've already started on the next chapter, and am quite excited to move into CoS and leave SS behind. Onward we go!_

_A special thanks to Borgprincess for being my beta AND personal research assistant. :)_

_-Liz_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**

* * *

**

"You're hovering, Weasley."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you _are_. If he lifted his head up, he'd smack straight into you."

"So?"

A hint of impatience. "_So_, I'd say that fits the definition of hovering."

Weasley scowled, and took a step backwards. His attention quickly shifted to the table of sweets just beside the bed, piled high and quite haphazardly. He reached for a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans at the top of the stash and simultaneously knocked off three separate boxes of Chocolate Frogs, scattering them on the floor.

"Oops."

Hermione tried desperately not to roll her eyes at him, though in the end, she failed.

It was early morning, and they were in the Hospital Wing, both surrounding Harry Potter's bed. It had been three days since they had all gone down the trapdoor to stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from stealing the Sorcerer's Stone.

Harry still hadn't woken.

From the moment Hermione's eyes had opened, Madam Pomfrey had hovered above her, pushing trays of hot food onto her lap.

"Eat. Yes, _all_ of it, Miss Granger," the mediwitch had said sternly, without a hello. "If I have to stand here and watch you consume every last bite, I will." She placed the utensils on the tray and took a step backward, frowning. "Go on then, Miss Granger. I've other patients to attend to."

Rather abashed, Hermione had been all but forced to eat a great number of massive meals ever since, and though her stomach felt at times as though it might literally burst, Madam Pomfrey insisted she kept eating.

Weasley seemed to be on track for a quick recovery. Though he currently had a bandage wrapped around his head with a wad of gauze padding one side, he snuck out of his bed whenever Madame Pomfrey wasn't about, took the best pickings of Harry's treats, and talked constantly about Quidditch.

The object of his current interest was, naturally, the massive stack of sweets beside Harry's bed.

"Do you think you should be eating those?" Hermione asked, somewhat snobbishly. "They _are_ Harry's, after all."

Weasley looked up at her, indignant. There was a bit of chocolate smeared above his lips. "Harry's my _best_ mate, Granger."

"So you get first dibs on all his food?"

"Listen here, Granger – "

Whatever retort Weasley had in mind died quickly on his lips. Madam Pomfrey burst into the Hospital Wing and eyed the pair of them with a suspicious gaze.

"What _is _going on here?" she demanded, her hands at her hips. She honed in on Weasley first, his hands caught in the proverbial cookie jar. "How many times have I told you, Mr. Weasley, that you ought to be laying down?" She gasped quite suddenly and dramatically when she saw what he was holding. "_Chocolate_ to eat? Why, you'll make yourself sick! And _you_, Miss Granger, you were discharged this morning! Mr. Potter is in need of a great deal of rest; you ought to return to your dormitory."

Weasley dropped the box of Chocolate Frogs as Madam Pomfrey swooped into the room. Working very much like a sheep dog, she cornered Weasley to his bed until his legs backed into the frame, and he plopped down rather gracelessly onto the mattress, looking flummoxed.

"Out, Miss Granger. Yes, out! The Hospital Wing is not a place for social gatherings. I have patients to attend to – not a party to chaperone."

"Please, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione pleaded, "I only wanted to see if Harry was all right."

But Madam Pomfrey wouldn't have any of it. "That's fine and well, Miss Granger, but you're not to be in the Hospital Wing until he awakes." She left Weasley at his bed and began ushering Hermione towards the doors. "You may check back tomorrow on his condition."

"_Tomorrow?_ But Madam – "

Madam Pomfrey shooed her out into the corridor. "No, Miss Granger, I'm quite firm when it comes to my patients. You may check back tomorrow on Mr. Potter's well-being, or, if you'd like, you may visit Mr. Weasley later this evening after supper – no more than fifteen minutes, however. He still needs rest."

Hermione stared up at the mediwitch dumbly, her mouth half-open. The scenario where she voluntarily visited a very grouchy and very _loud_ Ronald Weasley played around in her mind like an odd sort of joke. True, she was grateful he hadn't been too badly injured. True, he _had _helped her get out the trapdoor. But she suspected she still needed Harry's presence to deal with Weasley – at least when he wasn't suffering under the effects of a concussion.

"Er, I'll just ... wait until Harry's awake, I think."

That was evidently all the answer Madam Pomfrey needed; she nodded once and retreated back into the Hospital Wing, closing the doors soundly behind her.

Hermione blinked up at the closed doors for a brief moment and then, with a heavy sort of feeling in her stomach, slowly made her way back down to the dungeons.

There was no mystery to her as to why she was left with such an unsettling feeling. Harry's condition aside, she attributed her increasing uneasiness to a completely different person: Professor Snape.

More than anything, she wanted to speak with him – to apologize, if she could, for letting him down. She wished to tell him that she had done all in her power to stop Harry – that if she hadn't helped him through the enchantments beneath the school, he would have gone and tried to get through them anyway, and likely gotten hurt before he stepped two feet.

Harry, after all, had the unfortunate compunction to rush into situations without thinking first. And _surely_ Professor Snape understood that.

But Professor Snape hadn't been in his office once Hermione had been discharged from the Hospital Wing. He hadn't been in his classroom. She had been too embarrassed to seek him out in his private quarters, though she attempted to find a reason to be near that section of the dungeons on three separate occasions.

Still, she hadn't seen him.

She wondered if he was upset with her, and was perhaps avoiding her on purpose. Embarrassingly, her eyes pricked with tears of frustration.

And looking down at her feet as she passed through the Entrance Hall, she very nearly collided with an extremely exuberant Draco Malfoy.

"Hermione? Hermione!" He laughed loudly and grabbed her arms, twirling her around in a circle. "Did you hear? I've only just found out! I've already sent an owl to father, of course."

"Draco," Hermione complained, trying to pry his hands off her forearms. She dug her heels into the flagstone to stop him from spinning her further. "What are you talking about? Found what out?"

He dropped her arms immediately and grinned widely, leaning close as though to share some great secret. "Slytherin's won the House Cup for the seventh year in a row! Dumbledore just announced it. The end-of-year feast tonight will have the Great Hall decorated in Slytherin's colors!" He punched her lightly in the arm and _whooped _loudly. "And to think you were worried about all the sneaking off and rule-breaking we've done this year."

Hermione stared. "Slytherin – _won_?"

"Yeah!" Draco answered brightly. "Gryffindor will be gutted! I can't wait to see the look on – "

But Hermione stopped listening as Draco continued in exacting detail of the disappointment Gryffindor was sure to face. A swell of pride suddenly flooded through her at the thought of Slytherin finishing ahead of the other Houses.

Slytherin had well and truly been her home the past several months, and the students – her family. The fact that she had taken part in contributing to something so grand as winning the House Cup made her legs feel a little weak. She looked up at Draco and smiled – the first real smile since she had awoken in the Hospital Wing.

"I can't believe we did it."

His grey eyes glinted as he returned the smile. "Me neither. Slytherin!" He pointed proudly to the serpent on the front of his robes. "Even with all the other Houses against us, we're still better than the rest of those morons."

She felt like bursting into to tears, only barely retaining the presence of mind to keep it together in front of Draco.

Professor Snape had told them at the beginning of the year about the prejudice against Slytherin House. And Hermione had most certainly witnessed it first-hand, through students like Ronald Weasley. She had seen the suspicious eyes of professors from other Houses. She had felt the hateful stares from the other first-years. And yet, Slytherin now had this one small victory.

Maybe, just maybe, it was a step in the right direction.

"Draco, have you seen Professor Snape?" Hermione asked. "Recently, I mean. I've ... been looking for him."

"No. He's probably down celebrating at the Hog's Head."

Somewhat mystified, Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What's the Hog's Head?"

Draco flashed a cocky smirk. "It's a bar in Hogsmeade. Oh, _come on_, Hermione," he continued, when he saw the surprised expression on her face, "you don't think Snape's never been pissed at a bar before?"

"Draco!"

He shrugged innocently. "Well, he has. He and father go all the time. Mother hates it."

Something in his face changed when he mentioned his mother, but Hermione brushed it off without much thought. "I doubt very much that he gets drunk while teaching," she offered in prudish tones. "He'd be sacked, Draco."

"Dumbledore probably joins him," Draco snorted disdainfully. "Flint told me that some of the professors keep flasks in their offices. All you'd need is a charm to fill them full of whiskey and – "

"Maybe _you've_ already forgotten, Draco," Hermione cut in, annoyed, "but one of the five exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration is food and drink. You can't produce either out of thin air – only move or change it."

"That's not true," Draco retorted sourly. "Flitwick once mentioned a spell that made water out of nothing. It's N.E.W.T. level."

Hermione scowled. "You know what I meant. And _aside_ from that, it's none of our business as to what our professors do on their own time." She stood to her full height and said rather bossily, "I'm going to the common room to find Millie and see if she's seen Professor Snape and – "

"That would be quite counterproductive," came a smooth voice from behind her, "as I am presently unable to be in two locations at once."

"Professor Snape!"

Hermione whirled around so violently that it took a moment for her hair to settle back down.

"Indeed," Professor Snape said dryly, looking down at his robes and straightening them a bit. For one brief moment, his eyes stilled, and he regarded her with an intensity that was almost frightening. "Your powers of observation are exceptional, Miss Granger."

Hermione swallowed. Her words faltered. "Sir, I've been ... looking for you since Madam Pomfrey let me out of the Hospital Wing. I – I meant to apologize – "

"My office, Miss Granger," Professor Snape interrupted impassively, "and quickly, if you please."

Hermione's eyes grew wide and anxious. "Of – course, sir."

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," Draco said respectfully, after surreptitiously giving Hermione a sympathetic glance.

Professor Snape tilted his head toward the young boy, even as he ushered Hermione towards the dungeons. "Mr. Malfoy," he said silkily. "I admit that I am somewhat surprised you are not outside, taking in the weather."

"No, sir. I wanted to find out the final score for the House Cup." He smiled without restraint then, hands shoved into his robe pockets, rocking back and forth from heel to toe. "Looks like Slytherin wins. _A__gain_."

The corner of Professor Snape's thin mouth lifted. "Indeed, Mr. Malfoy. One might wonder why the other Houses even bother."

"Oh, Gryffindor will always try to keep up, I'm sure," Draco said dismissively. "Though it clearly doesn't do them any good."

Professor Snape seemed almost amused. "Quite."

Hermione fidgeted anxiously with her robes, and Professor Snape's attention immediately shifted away from Draco. He cleared his throat. "I shall see you tonight at the end-of-year feast, Mr. Malfoy. I have some ... business to attend to first."

"Yes, sir."

Professor Snape came up beside Hermione and surprised her by taking her arm, just above the elbow. "Come along, Miss Granger."

Taking the steps quickly down to the dungeon, Hermione felt her hands sweating. Not minutes ago she had convinced herself that she desperately wanted to speak with Professor Snape. The memory of the look in his dark eyes in the Entrance Hall, however, sobered her. If he wasn't dragging her down to his office to rage at her and stir up an anger of justification, perhaps he was taking her to his office to reproach her quietly. And she dreaded that more, somehow.

Professor Snape dismantled the wards to his office silently and quickly, holding the heavy wooden door open for Hermione, even as she shuffled into the dark space.

"_Lumos!_" he murmured silkily, locking the door behind him.

Flames burst into life on the wall's torches and the ceiling's low chandelier, casting a warm glow on the room.

Standing there, watching the flickering flames, Hermione waited for him to walk past her to his desk. But the sound of his footsteps never came. Steeling herself after a long moment, she swallowed, and slowly turned around to face him.

He stood just before the door, silent and perfectly still. He was looking back at her, his eyes almost invisible in the dim light. With arms crossed across his chest, he looked much like an immovable statue; solid, constant, fixed.

"I suppose I should thank you, for what you did the other night," he said finally. "It was a ... brave thing in a way, and not _completely_ foolish and idiotic."

Hermione blinked, in surprise, in relief. She felt something inside unclench a bit, and realized that she'd been tenser than she'd known.

"I – I didn't know what else to do," she admitted at last, her voice quiet and timid. "I really did try, Professor. I told him – Harry – that he wasn't thinking things through. That he should have waited for either you or Professor Dumbledore."

"I know," he answered softly.

She looked up at him sharply, surprised again. Almost soothingly, he repeated, "I know."

It was strange, really. These rare and unguarded moments where he seemed completely opposite of the Professor Snape she thought she knew; the teacher who demanded respect and perfection, who was harsh and rarely sympathetic, seemed almost tender. Kind.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, not really knowing what else to say.

He moved just slightly then, unfolding his arms so he could pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Miss Granger," he said after a moment. "I fear that it is I who should apologize."

Her brow furrowed. "Sir?"

He sighed deeply. He ran one hand through his hair. It was a long moment before he spoke.

"When I asked you to keep an eye out for Potter, I never meant – " He cleared his throat and swallowed, like a man taking a particularly nasty medicine. "That is to say, I never intended for you to physically place yourself in harm's way. If I gave you the impression that that was what I expected of you, I was ... most certainly in the wrong."

She stared at him. "But Harry – "

"Potter will do whatever he wishes to do," Professor Snape snarled, slowly moving to the center of the room. "That much is clear now. You should never have been made to think that you needed to put yourself in danger to appease any request of mine."

She stared at him blankly. After a long moment, half-against her better judgment, Hermione said what she felt she'd been waiting to say for a long time. She tilted her head to the side. "You don't like Harry, do you, Professor Snape?"

He turned to look down at her, arms once again folded across his chest. She half expected him to shout at her, to yell that it wasn't her concern. But he didn't.

"No," he said with singular simplicity.

"May I ask why, sir?"

"No," he answered again, "you may not."

"But – "

"Miss Granger," he interrupted smoothly, "I have no desire to discuss Potter any further than is strictly necessary with anyone, _let alone_ a student."

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean to gossip, sir."

He nodded at her almost imperceptibly, as though he accepted her answer. "Indeed. Now, I wish to make it _perfectly_ clear, Miss Granger, that you are not to do something so _Gryffindor _again as you did the other night. You've a brain, girl. Use it. Getting yourself killed would have done nothing for Potter or the Wizarding World."

She blinked. "Sir?"

He sighed in an irritated sort of way. "Despite what Potter and his cabal might tell you, Miss Granger, there are situations where flight is far more conducive than fight. Rushing blindly into a situation without pausing to analyze the consequences is indisputably foolish and will rarely, if ever, result in a positive outcome." He frowned repressively. "Surely you understand the logic in this."

"Yes, I understand, sir," she said after a moment, slowly. "I just – I didn't want to disappoint you – or Harry."

It was the first time she had ever seen him startled. She suspected a Gryffindor would have felt a small amount of triumph in that. As it was, she simply knew it needed to be said.

"Rest assured that I value your life above any sort of disappointment you think you could afflict upon me, Miss Granger," he said finally. "And that I never want you to place yourself in such a situation again."

She nodded and looked up at him, feeling light with relief.

There was a pregnant silence, and eventually Professor Snape cleared his throat and adjusted his robes. "I assume you wish to prepare for the end-of-year feast, Miss Granger, and so I will excuse you."

"Thank you, sir."

Her hand was on the brass handle when she heard his voice ring out behind her. "Dress sharp, Miss Granger. Slytherin has won the House Cup. I expect all my students to look every bit the champions they are."

A smile crept onto her lips without any effort, and Hermione pulled the handle and exited the room. "Yes, sir."

* * *

A few short hours later Hermione was walking into the Great Hall with the rest of her House, saying to Millie over the loud chatter, "Can you believe it? That we won?" A swell of pride bubbled in her chest as she looked upward. The rafters were decorated lavishly with silver and green banners.

Millie grinned unabashedly. "We deserve it after what our lot had to put up with this year from the other Houses." She stood tall and straightened her recently pressed robes. "Just look there. Snape almost looks happy."

Hermione glanced up at the Head Table. Professor Snape appeared to be in a sour and unpleasant mood. He stabbed at his roast quiet emphatically. When Professor McGonagall pulled up a chair next to him, however, Hermione caught a slight smirk on his lips. She suspected the huge banner displaying the Slytherin serpent behind the Head Table had something to do with it.

As she walked to the Slytherin table with Millie, Hermione turned her head toward the left side of the Hall where the Gryffindors sat, searching for any sign of Harry. Weasley was easy enough to spot; his bright ginger hair stood out like a sore thumb. Each of his hands already had a firm grasp on both a knife and fork, and his face wore a pouty expression – looking for all the world as though he hadn't eaten in days.

Harry, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Hermione!" Draco stood up from the bench and he motioned them over. "We've saved you a seat!"

Hermione smiled; she almost jogged over to sit next to him until she spotted Crabbe and Goyle on either side of Draco. Each was easily double her size, and the empty space between them would scarcely fit a toddler, let alone both Millie and herself.

"Er, maybe we'll just sit at the end of the table, Draco – "

"Hermione," a pleasant voice called out over the chatter of the Hall. "You can sit here."

Hermione turned her head in the direction of the voice. Marcus Flint was standing near the head of the table, arm gesturing toward the bench. Something in his eyes caught her off guard; there was a strange curiosity that always seemed to be there. He looked at her and then back at the bench, a patient smile on his lips.

"There's room for Millie, too, of course," he said smoothly.

Hermione stood perfectly still for a long moment. Then she looked over her shoulder at Millie. The larger girl shrugged her shoulders in mutual, silent confusion. Then she moved past Hermione to where Marcus was standing.

Hermione cocked her head at Draco. "Thanks, anyway. I think there's more room toward the front."

Wordlessly, Draco swung his legs over the side of the bench and scowled.

Swinging her own legs around her seat, Hermione slipped into the empty space between Millie and Marcus.

"There's all sorts of rumors going around about what happened with you, Potter, that ginger-haired kid, and You-Know-Who," Marcus said by way of greeting. He flashed her a smile and reached to fill up her goblet. "I'd sure love to hear the real story."

Hermione laughed nervously. "Oh. Well, there's – er, not much to tell, really."

He set the goblet down in front of her; the pumpkin juice sloshed around the rim but didn't spill over. "You're being modest. Anything the professors are trying to hush up is definitely worth knowing."

She swallowed uncomfortably. "Oh?"

Reaching for the pitcher at the center of the table, Millie leaned around her friend. "The whole school knows what happened, Marcus. Why do you need to hear it from Hermione? It's obvious she doesn't want to talk about it."

"Millie – "

"No, she's right," Marcus interrupted smoothly. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Hermione was dimly aware that she should probably say something. Words seemed to have failed her. She was about to open her mouth to speak when there was a sudden hush across the room. Turning around on the bench, Hermione watched as Harry walked into the Hall. He was wonderfully, blessedly alive.

A second later, everyone started talking loudly all at once. Students from varying Houses stood up to point at Harry as he scooted into a spot next to Weasley at the Gryffindor table. Even over the loud chatter, Hermione could have sworn she heard Draco grumbling something negative about both Harry and Gryffindor.

Professor Dumbledore, deciding that now was as good a time as any to quiet the babble, stood in front of the Head Table and cleared his throat.

"Another year gone!" he said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast.*"

Somewhere, on the opposite side of the Hall, Weasley groaned loudly.

"What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were ... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts ...*"

"That's an awful thing to say," Hermione whispered to Millie in real horror. "We should be reading ahead for second year – "

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two.*"

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table*. Hermione joined in with her housemates, banging her goblet loudly.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account.*"

The room went very still.

"What do you think he means?" Millie whispered.

Hermione shook her head.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes ... first – to Mr. Ronald Weasley, for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House fifty points.*"

Weasley went purple in the face. He looked like a radish with a sunburn*.

"Second – to Mr. Harry Potter ... " The room went completely quiet. " ... for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points.*"

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling; the stars overhead seemed to quiver*.

Professor Dumbledore's gaze turned toward the Slytherin table. "Third – to Miss Hermione Granger ... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Slytherin House fifty points.*"

The din from the Gryffindor table was deafening. Every student, save Harry and Weasley, whirled around and glared at Hermione.

"There are all sorts of courage," Dumbledore continued airily. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends*. I therefore award ten points to Miss Pansy Parkinson."

Hermione's head whipped around to look down the table where a white-faced Pansy stared ahead in utter shock. In the next instant Hermione could no longer see Pansy, as she had disappeared under a pile of people hugging her.

"This means, of course," Dumbledore called over the storm of applause, "that Slytherin is well and truly the winner of the House Cup this year. Congratulations to you all!"

It was odd. For a moment so brief Hermione wasn't even completely sure she had seen it, she thought she saw a flicker of disappointment flash across Professor Dumbledore's face. She shook it off in the next instant, however, when pats and hugs of fellow housemates enveloped her to the point of near suffocation.

* * *

"Millie," said Hermione, halfway through the meal, when the celebration at Slytherin's table had slightly ebbed, "what House was Professor Dumbledore in?"

Millie shrugged her broad shoulders and reached for another chicken leg. "Dunno. Why?"

"I –don't know. Just curious, I suppose."

"It's not common knowledge," said Marcus. He pulled a silver napkin from his lap and dabbed at the corners of his mouth. "Though everyone assumes it was Gryffindor. He's always favored them. Gryffindor always get played favorites - at school and out in the Wizarding World."

Hermione frowned. "Professor McGonagall doesn't favor Gryffindor."

"No, she doesn't," Marcus agreed. "But ask anyone. You probably haven't had much experience with it, since you were raised with ... Muggles," his face flashed with distaste, "but any applicant with a résumé showing the witch or wizard was in Gryffindor will almost always take precedence over other Houses - especially Slytherin."

"That's prejudice," Hermione said angrily. "And why? Just because You-Know-Who was a Slytherin? Yes," she said with false brightness, mimicking some nondescript person, "let's make everyone else from that House be at a disadvantage because You-Know-Who was raving mad. That makes _loads_ of sense."

Marcus shrugged. "It's the way the world is. I guess we shouldn't complain too much about it while we're at school. At least we have Snape. He favors Slytherin."

"_Only_ because none of the other professors give Slytherin the time of day," Millie piped in defensively. "If he didn't, we'd never have a point to our name."

"I'm not saying it's wrong of him, Millie," Marcus said calmly, "but Dumbledore has infinitely more sway than Snape could ever hope to have. If he's playing favorites, that carries into the rest of the Wizarding World - to the Ministry."

"But ... he's the Headmaster," Hermione said blankly. "He's not allowed to have favorites. Is he?" She turned and looked up at the Head table. Professor Dumbledore seemed to be rather amused by something Madam Hooch was saying. The Quidditch instructor was speaking with wild hand gestures and using her fork to imitate what Hermione could only assume was a broom. Professor Snape, as always, was watching the Slytherin table closely.

Marcus shrugged. "He seems to be a Potter worshipper just like the rest of the world – including you," he added darkly.

"I don't worship Harry! He's my friend!"

Marcus raised his hands in surrender. "Easy there, Hermione. I just call it how I see it."

Hermione scowled. "Well, you're seeing wrong, Marcus. Harry's my friend. I don't worship him at all for something he did – something that he can't even _remember_ doing. I like him because he's nice."

Marcus snorted loudly. His eyes swept across the Hall to the Gryffindor table. His voice was filled with contempt when he said, "Be careful which side you align yourself with, Hermione." He pushed back from the bench and stood to leave, tossing his silver napkin onto the table. "You want to make certain you choose right."

And he walked out of the Hall.

"What was that all about?" Millie asked.

Hermione, looking at the huge double doors, simply shook her head.

* * *

Hermione hadn't stopped thinking about the end-of-year exam results, though Harry and Weasley had the audacity to act utterly surprised while waiting for their marks to finally be posted.

"Honestly!" she chided them, pacing back and forth like a wild tiger in a cage far too small, "How could you two have forgotten? Don't you realize how _important_ these marks are?"

"'Course we do, Granger," Weasley retorted. Though, for his part, he appeared genuinely startled. "We just choose not to think about it every second!"

"Right," said Hermione smartly. "I suppose _Quidditch_ fills that time, doesn't it?"

Harry, per usual, had to intervene with his two friends until the marks were posted. Both he and Weasley passed with fair grades, and Hermione, to her everlasting delight, had the highest marks of all the first years.

"Would you stop acting so surprised and cheery?" Weasley grumbled afterward, folding his arms. "Anyone could have told you that you'd have the highest marks. You didn't leave the library for two whole weeks."

Draco's scores were nearly as high as Hermione's, and Millie received above average marks. Even Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle managed to scrap through when Hermione had originally thought that neither had a hope or prayer.

And very suddenly it all happened.

Their wardrobes were empty, their trunks packed. Neville's toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays; Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross station.*

"Oh, no!" Hermione exclaimed, pulling her jacket over her shoulder once the train lurched to a stop. "I never said goodbye to Professor Snape!"

Draco laughed. "Teacher's pet! What more could you possibly need to say to him? You already got the highest marks of our year!" He stood and put on an expensive looking blazer and then pulled their compartment door open. Pansy, who had been uncharacteristically nice to Hermione since the end-of-term feast, quietly stood and moved out into the hallway.

"I just – I don't know. I wanted to thank him." She shrugged. "For everything."

"Well, you'll see him in a few months," said Draco. "You can thank him then."

"Yeah," said Millie, tying her shoelace. "Otherwise, he'll think you fancy him!"

Hermione's cheeks burned. "I do _not_ fancy him! He's – he's a teacher!" she sputtered.

Millie and Draco laughed loudly.

It took quite awhile for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn't attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.*

"Hermione!" said a voice, very nearly out of breath.

It was Harry, and he had nearly knocked Hermione over in his attempt to push through the crowd.

"Er," he began awkwardly, adjusting his glasses, when she looked at him expectantly. "I, uh – I hope you have a nice holiday."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Harry!" she said brightly. "You, as well. I hope your aunt and uncle are nicer to you." He had told her once, though he was quite obvious uncomfortable talking about it, that he had awful Muggles for relatives.

"Me, too." His face lit up as a thought struck him. "They don't know that we can't do magic – "

"Harry, no _way_." Hermione folded her arms and scowled. "You'll be expelled. Didn't you read those notes the teachers passed out before we left Hogwarts? Underage wizards aren't allowed to do magic outside of school."

Harry frowned. "Ron said that maybe because they're Muggles – "

"Weasley doesn't know what he's talking about. And if he was a _true_ friend, he wouldn't be trying to get you into trouble."

"Fine, then. I won't do any magic. Happy?"

"Yes," said Hermione seriously. "I am."

"Well, I gotta go," said Harry after a beat. He kicked his shoe at the ground. "Uncle Vernon will be mad if he has to wait long for me."

"Take care, Harry." Hermione's voice softened. She looked at her friend fondly. "I'll – I'll, er, miss seeing you everyday."

"Yeah," said Harry, smiling shyly. "Me, too."

"Well – uh, bye, then."

"See you, Hermione."

He waved to her once, and then disappeared into the crowd with Weasley and his ginger-haired family.

People jostled all around Hermione as she moved forward out of the gateway and back into the Muggle world. Ahead in the crowd she spotted Draco next to a tall, lean man with white hair. There was no question as to who the man was. Same hair and eyes. Same pointed chin. Same confidence. He looked positively annoyed to be surrounded by such a large crowd and scowled deeply at anyone who came close to him. When Hermione's eyes met Draco's through the crowd, he smiled and said something hastily to his father, pushing his way through the crowd back toward her.

"I'll send you an owl this summer," he said, once they were face-to-face. "Father's taking me on several trips straightaway, but we'll be back at the manor before school starts again."

Hermione smiled. "Okay. You look just like him, you know." She tilted her head in the direction of his father. "Spitting image, really."

Draco smirked and stood a little taller, evidently pleased. "Yeah? He's very successful, you know. Quite high up in the Ministry."

"Oh. That's, uh – nice."

"Yeah. Well, I have to go. Father has a meeting he needs to be at, and we still need to stop at Quality Quidditch Supplies." He paused and his face took on an unpleasant expression. "I hope it's not too awful with your ... Muggles."

Hermione frowned. "No, it's going to be brilliant. I can't wait to see them."

Draco nodded, though his face still appeared unconvinced. "Oh. Well, goodbye, then."

"See you, Draco."

Hermione sighed as he walked away, feeling the frustrations of her first few months at school all over again. Was this always how it was going to be with Draco? With all of her Housemates? Were they _ever_ going to understand? For the first time since the beginning of the school year, Hermione truly understood the secrecy she was sworn to with Professor Snape and Dumbledore. After nearly a year of living with her Housemates, after sharing laughs, meals, and late night stories, they still looked down on her 'adopted' caretakers.

Hermione didn't want to know what would happen if word ever got out that they were, in fact, her biological parents.

Hermione's eyes swept the busy crowd as she tugged her massive trunk behind her. It was heavy, and with the flow of people around her, she made little progress. Pausing after a long moment to rest, above the babble of the crowd, she heard her name.

"Hermione?"

Her head turned in the direction of the voice.

"Hermione?"

And there, suddenly – wonderfully – her father was hurrying toward her, with her mother trailing just behind him.

"Dad! Mum!"

She dropped her trunk, giving little thought to it, and jumped into the outstretched arms of her father.

"Dad! Oh, I missed you so much!" She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, breathing in the scent of his aftershave, feeling comfort and warmth and – _home_.

"You, too, pumpkin," Mr. Granger said, his voice catching a little. He kissed the top of her head after several moments and set her down. Mrs. Granger had already bent down and was pulling her daughter into a tight embrace.

"Mum, you'd never believe it!" Hermione mumbled into her mother's thick, dark hair. "There's so much I have to tell you and dad!"

"And we want to hear all about it, dearest," said Mrs. Granger, kissing Hermione on each cheek. Her brown eyes were bright with unshed tears. "What do you say to dinner since we're in town? Something fancy?"

"Yes, please!"

"I suppose I'll be paying, then?" Mr. Granger joked, pulling his wife over to him the moment she stood. He kissed her tenderly on the temple.

Mrs. Granger smiled at him coyly. "Of course, dear."

Hermione's father laughed once and picked up his daughter's trunk, walking with his little family out of King's Cross station and into the city evening.

* * *

"Mum!" Hermione cried, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. "Have you seen my Potions book? It was sitting on dad's armchair this morning and now I can't – "

"In your room, dear," Mrs. Granger's voice called from the kitchen. "I thought you were done with it."

Hermione smiled to herself and scaled the stairs to her bedroom, finding the Potions book placed neatly on her writing desk next to some loose parchment and multiple quills. She picked it up and ran her fingertips over the cover gently, feeling the slight change in texture where the title was embossed. She had been busy with schoolwork for the better part of a month, and though her parents were obviously pleased she was taking her studies so seriously, Hermione had noticed that her books had recently started making mysterious disappearances.

"You've got the whole summer to study," her mother had said, only a few weeks after Hermione arrived back in London. "Why don't you come on a walk with your father and I?"

Hermione suspected her mother's attempts to 'hide' her schoolwork were merely her way of beckoning her daughter to come out of her room and spend time with the family. Hermione, of course, couldn't really fault her for that.

She had been very selective of what she told her parents from the moment they'd been reunited. Everything about her studies, her professors and Millie and Harry, very little about Slytherin and its reputation, and nothing at all about what happened beneath the school with Harry or the incident with the troll at Halloween. She was careful to bring up House rivalry, and mentioned that there were just as many rotten wizards as there were Muggles, hoping to imply the dangers of the Wizarding World without necessarily belaboring them.

Her being away from them was clearly difficult enough; she didn't want to add to that anxiety any more than she had to without deliberately lying to them.

And so, instead of reading ahead in her Potions text, Hermione set it back down on her desk and wandered downstairs into the kitchen.

"Hey, mum. Oh!" Hermione stopped just inside the kitchen doorway and winced. Mrs. Granger stood in front of the oven. She wore cooking mitts and a bewildered expression as an alarming amount of smoke wafted into the small space.

"Oh! Did you find your book, dear?"

"Yes. Mum, did you try cooking again?" Hermione hurried over to the oven and opened the door. More smoke poured into the kitchen. Coughing, grabbing a dry towel and opening the sliding door that led out to their back patio, Hermione began fanning at the air, trying to coax the smoke outside.

"Well, I thought I'd try a roast ... the directions said for the meat thermometer to read ... Wait. I could have sworn – "

"I thought dad said the kitchen was off limits for you," Hermione coughed through the smoke, fanning as quickly as she could. "Except to make tea."

"Well, he – did," said Mrs. Granger, "though I still thought I could surprise him."

Hermione chuckled wryly. "By burning the house down? Aren't we already on a first name basis with the fire brigade?"

Mrs. Granger peered into the oven and then backed away, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "That," she pronounced, "is a burnt roast."

"Mum, you're a brilliant dentist," said Hermione fondly, when the visibility in the kitchen returned. "But cooking – "

"We'll leave to your father," Mrs. Granger finished.

"Agreed."

* * *

The summer weeks went by slowly.

After all the excitement of Hogwarts and the constant pressures of homework and tests, the afternoons in her parents' house were quite boring. Lonely, even.

Hermione's parents worked during the day at a small dental office not forty minutes away by foot, and though Hermione enjoyed the walk to visit them at work and occasionally take lunch with them, she found herself getting restless. Anxious.

She had never had any real friends at home. That wasn't new. But to go from being constantly surrounded by students and friends at school to a virtually isolated existence during the days was – difficult. She felt distinctly out of place.

Millie wrote often. She had a tawny owl called Melvin who had a penchant for molting everywhere; each time the bird tapped on Hermione's window, she spent hours afterward vacuuming up the feathers. Millie and her family (consisting of six brothers) had been on holiday in Germany. Millie had said that her brother, Arnold, had taught her a wrestling move that was impossible to get out of. Hermione, thinking of Millie's strong build, didn't doubt it.

Harry, quite surprisingly, hadn't written once.

Because she didn't have an owl of her own, Hermione had looked up Harry's address in the phonebook and sent a letter through the post, hoping she'd get a response. After several weeks of waiting, however, she had nervously given up.

_Why won't he write? He said his aunt and uncle were awful ... what if something happened?_

One day, midway through the summer, a shabby gray owl that Hermione had never seen before landed rather gracelessly on her windowsill.

"Hello, you," Hermione cooed softly, pushing the pane open with her forearm to let the bird in. "And who might you be?"

The owl flopped to the side as he held out one leg, unable to balance properly as he delivered his note. Opening the letter, as Hermione stared down at the horrid handwriting, she gasped quite suddenly, convinced that she couldn't have been more surprised if the Minister for Magic himself had sent her a letter.

"_Weasley?_"

She peered at the note with a frown.

_Granger,_

_I'm sure all you've done so far this summer is study. That's fine and well, but I was wondering if you'd heard anything from Harry? The Muggles he lives with are nutters and they don't treat him well at all. I'm thinking of getting my brothers, Fred and George, and breaking him out of his house if I don't hear anything soon. If you have any good ideas of what else we could do, let me know._

_Ron_

_PS - my owl's called Errol. He sometimes gets turned around, so you might want to let him rest a bit before you send him out with your letter, otherwise he'll end up halfway across the country before he realizes where he's at._

Hermione looked up from the letter and stared ahead blankly. A moment later, her reflexes caught up with her mind, and she barreled over to her desk to scribble a response. Dipping her quill into an ink pot, she began writing:

_Dear Weasley, and Harry if you're there,_

_I hope that everything went all right and that Harry is okay and that you didn't do anything illegal to get him out, Weasley, because that would get Harry into trouble, too. I've been really worried and if Harry is all right, will you please let me know at once ...*_

She paused and looked over at Errol, who was stumbling about on her window's ledge.

_... but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl, because I think another delivery might finish your one off. Let me know what's happening as soon as you can.*_

_- Hermione_

Hermione folded the parchment carefully and precisely into a tiny square. Reaching into the top drawer, she pulled out a bag of owl treats Millie had sent for when Melvin visited. She dumped a generous amount into her left hand and then walked back to the window.

"Here you go, Errol. That's right. Eat up."

The confused owl blinked one eye at a time and then began pecking at the treats. Brushing her hand off on her shorts, not knowing what else to do while Errol ate and rested, Hermione grabbed her wand from under her pillow and headed down the stairs.

She plopped down gracelessly on her father's orange armchair and began fingering her wand. She itched to use it with a desire she hadn't known before. Most days, she left it under her pillow, worrying that she might be tempted to try out a new spell or brush up on everything she had learned the previous year if she constantly had it on her person. Expulsion was the direct consequence for using magic outside of school if one was underage, and Hermione wasn't certain she dared risk the temptation.

However, Professor Snape's voice warning that a wizard's wand should always be within arm's reach bounced around her head. _That_, and there were days where she felt as though she were literally without an appendage if she didn't carry it.

Still, the afternoons dragged on.

"Fancy a game of Scrabble, Hermione?" Mrs. Granger asked one warm summer evening, well into July. They were sitting out on the patio, watching the stars slowly wink into existence. Mr. Granger was inside, yelling at the television over a football match.

Hermione, slouched deep into her chair, smiled up at her mother. "What's the point, mum? You always beat dad and me without even trying. Honestly, how's it even fun for you?"

"It's still plenty fun, dear. There's quite a competitive side to me, you know."

"Please, mum." Hermione begged. "I can't hear any more stories about your field hockey days."

"It was back when Sheila Knowles and I were on the team, and – "

"Mum!"

Mrs. Granger chuckled. "Only kidding, darling. Would you mind going inside and putting the tea on? I'll be thinking of two letter words that begin with 'x'."

"Sure thing, mum." Hermione rolled her eyes and stood up, stretching liberally before she moved off the patio. Her bare feet sank into the cool, damp grass, and she lingered momentarily before making her way into the house.

"That's a foul if I've ever seen one!" Mr. Granger was hollering. "He got clipped! All leg and no ball! How's that _not_ a foul!"

Hermione peered into the drawing room. "I take it Arsenal's losing?"

Mr. Granger sighed and hit the volume of the remote until the sound went down. His light hair was standing out at wild ends from where he had likely pulled at it with frustration. "Down 2-0. In the eighty-sixth minute."

Hermione winced in sympathy. "Sorry, dad."

He waved her off and stood from the orange armchair, gesturing toward the television. "It's fine. There's always next season, I suppose. The Premier League – " he began, and then cut himself off, smiling down at his daughter. "Well, I'm sure you don't really care too much about the Premier League, now do you, pumpkin?"

Hermione laughed. "I care, dad, though not nearly as much as you. Football was never my sport, if you remember."

"Of course it was! You were a fast little terror out there." He bent and kissed her forehead, grinning fondly. "You just fell in love with science, English, and math. And that outweighed _my _love for you to be a footballer. Now," he dropped the remote and tucked his shirt back in, "what's your mother up to?"

Hermione groaned and moved back into the kitchen. "She wants to play Scrabble – _again_. I'm getting the tea."

Mr. Granger echoed the groan. "Maybe I can convince her to watch a film with me. What do you think it will take to get her to change her mind about Scrabble?"

"_Doctor Zhivago_," Hermione replied, without hesitation.

Mr. Granger stopped in the kitchen and rubbed his eyes. "My word, Hermione," he said seriously. "I'm not sure which is worse."

"How many times have _you_ seen it?"

He sighed. "Enough to know just about every line from both Omar Sharif and Julie Christie combined. And your mother watches it on her own. I'm not certain why she even needs to see it at all anymore – she can imagine the entire movie in her head."

Hermione shrugged, and she reached in the cupboard for the teapot. "It's her favorite."

"Yes, well, maybe I'll go out and try to convince her otherwise," her father said, winking.

Hermione laughed. "Good luck."

It only took a few minutes for Hermione to get the tea started. It was when she turned to head outside again that she heard a faint but insistent rapping coming from upstairs. She glanced quickly upward, her face pinched and curious.

"Hermione?" Mrs. Granger called from the backyard. "You'll bring the game out? Your father's seemed to have 'mislaid' it." Hermione looked outside again. Her mother was smiling warmly, sitting in her father's lap on one of the patio chairs. He reached up and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

Still, the rapping continued.

"Yeah, one minute, mum!" she called, looking back up at the ceiling. "Be right out!"

She took the stairs cautiously. Her wand was drawn, and it shook slightly in her unsteady hand. The sound, she soon discovered, was coming from the direction of her room. It was with the sternest of wills that she managed to peek around the post of her door to see the source of the noise.

Standing at the threshold to her room, gripping the doorframe with her free hand, Hermione blinked.

Sitting on the ledge of her windowsill was a black eagle owl.

"Oh," Hermione breathed in relief, letting loose the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She wasn't exactly sure what she had expected to find, but an owl was a welcome sight compared to what her wild imagination had been conjuring. "Hello, you." She crossed her room quickly and pushed the windowpane open. "You scared me," she half-cooed, half-scolded.

The graceful bird flew into her room, perching on the back of an armchair. "Oh, no! Not that chair!" Hermione groaned. "Mum will kill me ... "

The scolding did little good. Though Hermione waved her arms wildly, the owl was quite content where it sat, and merely lifted a leg which had a small scroll attached.

"Fine," Hermione grumbled, unfastening the scroll. "But you're answering to my mum when she comes asking what happened. I'll not take the blame for you."

The owl hooted.

Not until Hermione had given the owl one last scowl did she allow herself to open the scroll and see who it was from.

She recognized the handwriting immediately. Her heart sank slightly that the letter wasn't from Harry. Summer was in full force and she still hadn't heard from him once. Belatedly, she wondered if Weasley had been right in wanting to kidnap him from his aunt and uncle's house.

The handwriting was cramped and spiky.

"Draco," she whispered.

Hermione looked up at the owl, at its elegant stance and proud demeanor, and reflected ruefully that she should have suspected the owner long before she opened the letter.

_Hermione,_

_How are you? I hope your holiday is going well. I'm just back from France; mother had some new robes tailored specially for me from Paris. They're supposed to be from the best fabric in Europe. _

_I hope it's not too awful with your parents. Not being able to use magic is ridiculous enough, I can't imagine having nothing magical around me. It's a stupid rule, if you ask me. I think father plans to speak with Dumbledore about it._

_Anyway, I'm writing to invite you to the Manor for the rest of the holiday. Pansy will be there, and Theo Nott too. I invited Millie as well, but she'll be traveling until school starts again. Everyone should be arriving in two weeks. Can you be there? Write back as soon as you can. My father can come to your house and Apparate you here since I doubt your house is connected to the Floo._

_- Draco_

_PS. Amira can be twitchy around strangers. With owl treats, though, she'll warm right up. I've sent some with her in case you didn't have any._

Hermione looked up. Sure enough, just behind where the scroll attached to the owl's leg, there was a small, carefully wrapped package.

She sighed and stood up and walked warily towards her desk.

"Shh," she cooed. "It's all right. I won't hurt you. I'm just going to get you a nice treat. How's that sound?"

Amira blinked suspiciously, but moved so Hermione could retrieve the package.

"Amira, right? It's okay, girl. Treats. Just getting you some treats."

The owl seemed to perk up at her name, and tilted her head to the side as she regarded the human before her. A few moments later, Hermione had opened the package, given Amira several owl treats, which, not surprisingly, looked suspiciously gourmet and expensive, and had all but flown down the stairs and out into her backyard.

"Mum! Dad!"

Her parents were in the same position as when Hermione had left them. Her mother lifted her head off her father's chest and smiled warmly.

"Did you get the game, love?"

"Oh. Er, no. An owl came and I got distracted."

"You'll be vacuuming up those feathers, Hermione – "

"I _know_, mum. I always do, don't I?" She huffed slightly and pushed her long bangs back. "The owl's from Draco. He's invited me to stay at his house in two weeks until school starts." She affected her best pleading expression. "Can I go? _Please_?"

Her mother's face immediately fell, with her father's going soon after. "Dearest ... but we, we only get to see you so often – "

"I know, mum, and I'd miss you both like mad, but I'm – " She struggled for a word. 'Bored' didn't feel like an adjective her parents would understand without being hurt. " ... I'm anxious. Restless. I only have so many magical books." She took a breath and went on in a rush, "I've already read well ahead into my classes and it'd be nice to ... be around kids my age, you know. We ... have stuff in common." She dug her toe into the grass and looked downward.

"Hermione," her father said helplessly, and she forced herself to look up. "Wouldn't you rather – " But he stopped himself and cocked his head at her, and a new expression swept across his face. Not of disappointment, but of sad understanding. "No. No, I supposed you wouldn't, would you dearest?" He sighed, as if he had answered his own question. "Give your mother and I a moment, would you, doll?"

Hermione nodded, and her gaze swept over to her mother. She was keeping it together, but only barely.

Inside her home, Hermione's shoulders slumped as she crawled slowly up the stairs to her room. She closed the door quietly and shuffled over to her desk, sinking down into the chair and resting her hands in her elbows. From behind her, where Amira had moved to the window sill, she heard a soft _coo_.

"Why does it have to be so hard?" she muttered to herself.

Amira, who had evidently been listening, pushed off from the windowsill and landed on Hermione's desk, blinking up at her with apparent interest.

Hermione chuckled softly. "It'd be nice to have an owl to talk to," she said, and then sighed, looking directly at the bird. "I just wish ... I don't know, not that my parents were magical – I love them the way they are – but that they could ... I don't know, understand how important magic is to me. How it's a part of me."

Amira stared.

"It's like I'm a part of two different worlds, and I can't even talk to anyone about it."

"_Coo_."

Hermione blinked. "I suppose I could talk to Professor Snape about it, but – " She shook her head decidedly. "No, I better not. I was enough of a bother to him this year."

The owl turned its head around almost completely as it listened, gazing about the room while Hermione plucked at the feathers of her quill disinterestedly, listening for the sound of the sliding door in the kitchen. When it finally did open, and she had scrambled down the stairs and into the kitchen, she already could guess her parents' answer before either even spoke.

Their faces were tight and drawn.

"Of course you can go, sweetie," her father said, clearing his throat. "But we have a few conditions." He smiled half-heartedly. "We can talk about those later." He reached his arm around her mother and pulled her close. Looking back up at Hermione, he said, "How about that game of Scrabble?"

Hermione smiled, though not without sympathy. She rushed forward to hug her parents. "Sure thing, dad."

* * *

"How is it possible for someone to _not_ have a telephone?" Hermione's mother complained two weeks later, the morning Mr. Malfoy was meant to pick Hermione up. "Or even a mobile?"

"I've told you, mum, magical people have different ways of talking and getting around to see each other – owls, the Floo network, Apparation – "

"Yes, yes," Mrs. Granger interrupted, smoothing out one of Hermione's green jumpers inanely, "you've told me how you simply ... vanish into thin air and reappear again. It sounds dangerous, Hermione – _not to mention _like something out of that Star Wars movie your father likes."

"Star Trek!" Mr. Granger hollered from the hallway. "It's Star Trek, Sarah!"

Mrs. Granger waved a silent hand of dismissal towards the sound of his voice and looked down at Hermione with a frown. "Sweetie, how will we know that you've arrived safely, or that you made it to King's Cross, or arrived at school? Are you certain you can't take your mobile and then – "

Hermione shook her head. "Muggle technology won't work at Hogwarts, mum. But I'll ask Professor Dumbledore straightaway if there's any way we can get our house hooked up to the Floo. I'm not sure how complicated it would be – not to mention if there are any restrictions on the Ministry of Magic's part, but," she shrugged her shoulders and grabbed the jumper her mother was holding, placing it gently into her trunk, "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will have an answer. And we can always get an owl – "

"We've already had this discussion, Hermione," Mrs. Granger said flatly, her voice brooking no refusal.

Hermione sighed. "I know they're messy, mum, but really, it's the only way. The school owls weren't too bad last year, were they?"

Her mother's stare answered the question rather emphatically. Words were not needed.

"Maybe ... I can do some research. Maybe there are certain species of owls that molt less than others," Hermione offered, closing her trunk and locking it carefully.

Mrs. Granger rubbed her eyes. "Yes, maybe there are, darling," she relented.

Mr. Granger's footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs and a moment later, he appeared in the doorway. He wore a sad little smile. "Are you ready?" he asked them, moving into the room to grab Hermione's trunk. "What time was it that – " He cocked his head to the side. " – What was his name again, Hermione?"

"Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy."

He picked up the truck. "Right. Strange name. What time was he supposed to be here again?"

Hermione glanced over to the digital clock on her nightstand. "Any minute, I think. And people probably think _I _have a strange name, dad."

"It's Shakespeare," Mrs. Granger said defensively, as they climbed down the stairs and into the sitting room. "How is a character from one of the greatest writers in the English language strange?"

"I only meant that it wasn't common, mum," Hermione said gently. "I like my name."

* * *

As it was, they didn't have to wait long for the sound of a loud _pop!_ to be heard just outside the front door.

"That'll be him," Hermione said, a new excitement building in her stomach. _Back to magic. To Hogwarts._

She rushed to the door and pulled it open before her parents could fully get off the couch. A tall, elegantly dressed man with long white-blond hair looked down at her. His lips twitched upward very slightly.

"Hermione Granger, I presume?" Lucius Malfoy said, extending a hand to her. "My son has done nothing but speak of you since we picked him up at King's Cross."

Hermione smiled. "Mr. Malfoy. I'm very happy to meet you. And grateful you're letting me come to stay."

Lucius tilted his head in acknowledgement. His gaze then shifted to the quaint house, his eyes darting around the room until they landed on Hermione's parents. His expression changed instantly.

"Ah," he said smoothly. "These must be your adoptive ... Muggle parents." He walked into the house and smiled rather unpleasantly.

"Yes. Allow me to introduce myself," said Mr. Granger politely, stepping forward. "My name is John, and this is my wife, Sarah."

"Charmed," said Lucius, though he clearly didn't appear to be. His face was sour. "Well, I can assure the both of you that your ... ah, _daughter_ will be well looked after. The Manor has many protective charms, and I shall personally see to it that she boards the Hogwarts Express with my son come September 1."

Mr. Granger frowned, clearly confused by Lucius' lack of civility. Very slowly, he said, "We appreciate that. More than you know."

"You're ready, then?" Lucius asked Hermione, walking as quickly as he could out of the house.

"Er, yes. I - I just need to say goodbye to my parents."

Slowly, Hermione walked over to mum and wrapped her arms around her.

"He's very rude," her mother whispered into her hair. "Dearest, I'm not sure ... "

"He's just like that, mum. I'll be fine and safe. You heard what he said."

Her mother squeezed her tightly. "I worry about you, Hermione. Please, _please_ be safe."

"I will, mum. I love you."

Mr. Granger held onto his daughter for even longer. Brushing her bushy hair out of her face with his hands, he said in a low voice, "Love you, pumpkin. Don't worry about your mum. We'll get you an owl. I want to hear from you at least one a week - do you understand?"

Hermione nodded. "I promise, dad. Once a week."

"Okay, then." He rose to his feet. "Off you go."

"I love you, dad. Mum. I'll write soon. I promise."

They both nodded. Mrs. Granger entwined her hands together and scooted close to Mr. Granger. He pulled her next to him and kissed her on the temple.

"You're ready, I assume?" Lucius Malfoy asked, outside on the porch. Hermione had lingered momentarily, looking at her parents with one last smile.

"Yes, sir. I am. I just have my truck here."

"Give it here."

She pulled the trunk behind her and moved so he could grab the handle.

"Um, I ... well, I've never Disapparated before."

"I suppose that is to be expected," he said. His voice was laced with disapproval. "Living with Muggles." He shook his head, as if he'd never heard of such a travesty. "Come, then, give me your hand."

Hermione walked forward and placed her hand in the older man's. "Am I supposed to do anything? I've only read a little about Apparation in _Hogwarts: A History, _and Professor McGonagall mentioned it a few times last year in Transfiguration class, but - "

"Just don't let go," Mr. Malfoy interrupted tersely. "If you let go you'll be splinched or worse. You will likely spend the majority of the school term in St. Mungo's." He glanced briefly at Hermione's home and wrinkled his nose. "Come," he said. "I have an appointment at the Ministry; I cannot afford to be late."

"Splinched?" Hermione echoed, alarmed. She gripped Mr. Malfoy's hand so tight her knuckles began to turn white.

"Hold tight."

Before Hermione could ask for further instructions on whether she was supposed to do anything, the world started spinning. She felt an uncomfortable tug at her navel and was suddenly hurling rapidly through nothingness.

* * *

_A/N: Okay. I have a really good excuse as to why I abandoned you all for so long. Really, I do. I'm getting married (surprise!) and moving across the country, and so life has been a little ... shall we say, hectic? Probably the understatement of the century. _

_Thank you all so much for your reviews and your words of encouragement. I plan to continue with this fic, though I'm sure I won't be updating as quickly as I'd like. Don't give up on me! _

_A huge 'thanks' to my lovely, patient, and supportive beta, BorgPrincess. _

_You're all wonderful!_


	12. Chapter 12

She landed hard. Harder than she expected.

But then again, this being her first time Apparating, she wasn't sure what exactly _was _to be expected.

It occurred to her, as her cheek throbbed in pain against the cold floor – when _did_ she fall over, exactly? – that she didn't particularly have the desire to do it again anytime soon.

"Miss Granger."

Mr. Malfoy's voice came like an echo from somewhere above her.

"Miss Granger."

Or was it _behind _her?

Hermione tried to lift her head.

"I – where ... ?"

From somewhere in the distance, she heard hurried footsteps.

"Hermione?" asked a familiar voice.

"Ah, Draco," said Mr. Malfoy with a hint of annoyance in his voice, "_finally._" He cleared his throat. "I believe this was Miss Granger's first attempt at Side-Along Apparation. Have Dobby take her things to the east wing once she can stand. I have a meeting at the Ministry within the hour."

And then he turned abruptly and was gone.

"It's awful the first time, isn't it?" said Draco, though not without sympathy, squatting down beside Hermione. He bent down to get his hands under her arms. "I retched."

Hermione closed her eyes tightly and then opened them again wide as Draco helped prop her into a sitting position. "I can't believe I didn't. Ugh. That was _awful_."

"It gets better," he said, smiling a little. "I barely feel dizzy at all anymore. Father says once you can do it yourself you don't notice a thing."

"Well, that's certainly promising, isn't it?" jested Hermione.

Draco laughed once, loudly. Hermione smiled at him and then rubbed her cheek gingerly and glanced around the room.

They were in the most ornate and magnificent drawing room she had ever seen. It wasn't unlike the splendor she had grown so accustomed to at Hogwarts: there were exquisite tapestries, medieval chandeliers, and fine cherrywood furnishings. It was so very different from the bright, linoleum kitchen she had just left in her own house. There, her family had an old table that still had a dent it in from when her father had tried to carelessly move the television himself.

There were no dents, Hermione noted wryly, in the furnishings here.

"Wow. Draco, your home is ... nice," she said, trying not to sound _too _foolishly awestruck.

Draco grinned, clearly pleased. "I'm glad you finally got to come to the Manor. I _told_ you you'd like it. We Malfoys pride ourselves on having the best."

_That's quite clear, _Hermione thought ruefully, peeking out into a massive hallway with high-vaulted ceilings. The place seemed almost like a museum; it was too pristine and clean to actually allow people to live there.

But live there the Malfoys did.

"Well," said Hermione, running a hand through her wild hair after a long, awkward moment of gawking at the ornate interior of Malfoy Manor, "uh, where should I move my things?"

"Oh," said Draco, "you don't have to move anything." He cleared his throat. "DOBBY!" he yelled.

"What - "

There was quite suddenly a loud _crack! _and a half-second later, a hideous little creature stood in front of Draco, wringing his ugly little hands together. Hermione miraculously managed not to shout, but it was a close thing. She stared unabashedly.

"W-What _is_ that?"

"Young master!" squeaked the little creature in a high, nervous voice. "Dobby is ready to do your bidding! Dobby is always ready, sir!"

The thing had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. Hermione noticed that it - Dobby - was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm-and-leg holes.*

"Dobby," said Draco, with impatience and a hint of disgust in his voice, "take Hermione's trunk to the spare room in the east wing. She'll be staying with us until we have to return to school."

Dobby's giant eyeballs darted anxiously between Draco and Hermione.

"Er, ... hello," Hermione said cautiously. "Nice to meet you."

"Hermione!" Draco cried, "It's a house-elf, not a professor! We don't talk with them apart from what we _tell_ them to do. They're not wizards."

Dobby squeaked a happy reply anyway, apparently unperturbed. "Dobby is happy to be meeting you, Miss! Dobby will take Miss' things and make sure Miss is happy and settled!"

"Get on with it then!" Draco snapped at him.

A moment later, the fidgeting house-elf disappeared with Hermione's trunk.

"You didn't need to yell at him like that," Hermione said. She frowned in disapproval.

Draco stared at her for a long moment. At last, he said evenly, "I forget sometimes that you have to live with Muggles. That you were raised by them."

Hermione sighed internally. She had grown to hate talking about her upbringing with anyone inside her House. Everyone was so hatefully prejudiced. Where she normally would have loved to share stories about past family holidays, funny memories about her parents, and unique places they had all visited, Hermione absolutely dreaded bringing anything up at all for the response it elicited.

What made her the most upset was the glove of friendliness over it all. Slytherin House hated Muggles and Muggle-borns; they felt a need to share it just about every chance they could. And Hermione, of course, was Muggle-born.

And no one, save Professor Snape and the Headmaster, knew the truth.

_And now I understand why._

Hermione often wondered why it was that she had been sorted into Slytherin. Professor Snape had told her that a Muggle-born had never been in Slytherin - ever, as far as he knew. So why would the Sorting Hat then place her with a group of people who so obviously hated who she really was? Could the Hat have somehow been mistaken? She made a mental note to ask Professor Snape if that had ever happened before. Maybe she should have been in Ravenclaw. Or even Gryffindor. There were plenty of Muggle-borns in both of those Houses.

It weighed heavily on her, knowing that if her real blood status was known to Slytherin, her friends would all likely abandon her.

She looked back at Draco, who was regarding her closely. _He'd be the first one to turn on me_, she thought miserably.

"I don't want to have another conversation about my parents, Draco," Hermione said, when she realized he'd been waiting for her to speak. "We always end up angry with each other."

"They're not your _real_ parents. And anyway, I only brought it up because you're obviously Pure-blood, and if your real parents hadn't died, you would have had a house-elf, too."

Hermione didn't want to go down this road. She shrugged. "Maybe."

Draco regarded her. "You're mad at me."

She sighed. "I'm not mad at you. I know you don't like Muggles, but those people I live with are the only parents I've got, all right? And I love them. I just - I don't like hearing people talk bad about them."

"But your real parents - "

" - are dead!" Hermione shouted loudly, and her voice echoed up into the huge space. Her chest heaved with anger. "And I don't know a thing about them! If you met my adoptive parents for even five minutes, you'd realize they're lovely people - magical or not!"

"Hermione - " Draco began to argue.

"Stop it, Draco." She held up her hand and suddenly felt drained. "Look, we either stop talking about this now or I'll get my trunk and leave. I'm serious. I don't want to fight with you for two whole weeks before school."

"Wait," Draco protested, stepping closer to her. "I'm sorry. Don't leave, okay? I'm - " he took a deep breath. "Just, don't leave."

She regarded him warily for a few moments. He'd grown over the summer, she noticed. He was taller than she was now, whereas last year, they had been the same height, and his face seemed slightly different somehow. Thinner. "Fine," she said at last. "But no more Muggle talk, okay?"

"Right. Okay."

"Okay."

It was awkwardly silent for a long time. Draco shuffled his feet.

"So, can we ... um, explore your house?" Hermione ventured, trying to change the subject.

Draco's solemn face vanished instantly. He smiled brightly. "Of course! Father will be leaving soon. We'll have the entire place to ourselves." He grinned mischieviously. "I can show you the grounds, the back gardens, the peacocks, my new robes - " he stopped quite suddenly and tilted his head. "You know, you look different from when I last saw you."

Hermione chuckled. She felt her cheeks flush. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

"I'm taller," he said, proudly. "Father's quite tall. I hope I'm taller than him one day."

"You look a lot like him."

"Really?" Again, he seemed pleased.

"Yes." She looked at his face closely. "The same eyes and mouth. Same hair."

Draco smiled broadly. "So ... what do you want to see first?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "You said you have - peacocks?"

"Yeah! They're brilliant!" Draco replied enthusiastically. And then he blurted out in a rush, "They're out in the front. We have five. Three females and two males. In the spring, they have eggs. The babies don't look at all like the parents, though. They're fluffy."

"What do you do with the babies once they're grown?"

"Father gets rid of them."

Hermione gasped.

"No. No, he doesn't kill them," Draco explained, quickly. "He sells them."

Hermione blushed. "Oh."

"Well, come on, then," Draco urged impatiently, "Come see for yourself!"

* * *

A week before Hermione and Draco were scheduled to leave for London to board the Hogwarts Express, Hermione lay sprawled out across an overly large and very soft and presumably very expensive bed in her room at Malfoy Manor, reading quietly.

She paused and looked up from her text, _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade Two, _and reflected on the past week. It had been enjoyable enough, but the best part, undoubtedly, was being around magic again. Hermione loved to watch the maids cast cleaning and washing spells in the grand kitchen, loved to see moving photographs again, and even enjoyed watching Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy use magic in the most mundane and basic way.

It was all so fascinating.

On her third day at the Manor, she had seen Mr. Malfoy perform a Summoning Charm in the study with a flick of his wand, summoning his pipe and an old book.

"That's _brilliant_," Hermione had gushed, looking up from her summer homework. "Does that particular spell work for summoning anything? Or only certain objects in particular?"

Mr. Malfoy appeared somewhat irritated by her question, but he eventually answered, "_Accio _works for most objects."

"Even heavy ones?"

"Yes."

"What about living things?"

"Sweet Merlin, girl! Do you cease to ask questions?" he snapped, irritably. "You ought to have been raised by a proper Wizarding family - not the current riff-raff you're living with! You would have learned rudimentary magic from a young age."

It felt like she'd had the wind knocked out of her. It felt like a punch to the stomach. A slap in the face. Hermione ducked her head and returned to her book, ashamed. While she was, sadly, accustomed to insults thrown her way at school as far as her parents were concerned, it had always been her own peers who had voiced their opinion. Never an adult. Hearing those hurtful words from Mr. Malfoy was somehow worse. It didn't seem fair. Adults were supposed to be ... well, adults, right?

Hermione didn't ask any questions after that.

After a week with the Malfoys, Hermione decided that, in general, Mr. Malfoy was rude, curt, and no-nonsense. He paid little attention to Draco, and even less to Mrs. Malfoy. She, at the very least, had been friendly to her.

And though the Malfoys had, quite literally, every luxury a person could want or hope to want, they didn't really seem to be a happy family.

_Money, _Hermione reflected ruefully, _can't always buy happiness._

Draco had tried to impress Hermione with his gorgeous house, his many possessions, his brooms, the delicious dinners with exotic foods, the marble and stone bathrooms, and truly, it _was_ impressive. But Hermione suspected Draco might trade it all for his father's attention or approval.

At any rate, she was anxious to get back to Hogwarts.

Back on her bed, she carefully put a postcard her parents had sent her last spring inside her book to mark her place. Yawning, she stretched her arms over her head and then reached for a pair of green, fuzzy socks. She scooted off the bed and then walked toward the door, taking a moment to glance at an ornate clock on the far wall.

It was nearly midnight.

Hermione blinked in surprise. She hadn't realized she'd been reading for so long. She sighed heavily, resolved to drinking a generous cup of coffee in the morning. Groaning a little, annoyed with herself for letting the night slip away from her, she turned around to grab her toothbrush on the nightstand and retraced her steps to head out to the bathroom.

The moment Hermione opened her door, she collided hard with something, and stumbled forward.

It was dark in the hallway, the candelabras had burned low, and she could see very little. But an arm had reached out of nowhere and steadied her, even as she muttered a surprised, "Oh!"

"Miss - _Granger_?"

Hermione immediately tensed. She whipped her head around. She would know that voice anywhere. "Professor Snape?"

Her eyes were adjusting now, and the tall shadow looming over her materialized into a man. That black hair, that nose, those _eyes - _he looked every bit the same. His expression, she could see, even in the low light, was thunderous.

"_What-are-you-doing-here?" _he hissed angrily.

"What? I mean," Hermione fumbled, still flustered and confused as to how and why _he_ was just outside her room. "I'm staying with Draco," she managed, at length. "He invited me."

Hermione's confusion grew even more when her response seemed to only make him angrier. "You're staying _here_?" he repeated in a harsh whisper. "Merlin, do you ever _think_, girl?"

That got her angry. Why was he so upset with her? She hadn't done anything wrong. Her parents had given her permission to stay.

"My parents - " she started, but was cut off as he grabbed her arms and pushed her back through the door to her bedroom. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

"My parents know I'm here!" she said angrily, once the door was closed behind them, raising her chin. "I've done nothing wrong!"

With one hand still holding her firmly, Professor Snape brandished his wand with the other and muttered a spell. Magic pulsed beautifully between them for a brief moment.

"You would do well to remember that I am your _professor_, Miss Granger, and simply because we are outside the confines of Hogwarts' walls does not give you or any other student a free pass to speak disrespectfully to me," he snarled.

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, her chest heaving. "I'm sorry," she said evenly. "But ... I haven't done anything wrong, _sir_."

At last, he let go of her arm and straightened to his full height. Her own hand went to the very spot his had just vacated, and she rubbed her arm without thinking.

Professor Snape simply stared at her. When the appropriate time to speak came and went and he continued to stare, Hermione fidgeted nervously under his gaze. She looked anywhere but directly at him.

"I confess I am surprised," he said softly after an eternal silence, "that you can't work out the reason for my anger at you being here. You do not know?"

Hermione bit her lip. She felt her cheeks flush. "No, sir. I've told you. I don't know."

"You received the highest marks of any first year," he said silkily. "What a pity."

Hermione's eyes bulged wide. "I_ did_? How do you know, sir? I figured I had done fairly well, but - "

He held up his hand to silence her. "Enough, Miss Granger. Your academic achievements matter little at present and only insofar that you should have already worked out the problem for yourself."

His words felt like a punch to the stomach. It was humiliating. "Please, sir. Just _tell_ me, then."

He stared at her for a long time. Eventually, he said, "Sit, Miss Granger." He flicked his wand, and a chair from the opposite side of the room flew towards him. He caught it in a graceful sweep and placed it in front of her. With another silent flick, he transfigured a nearby pillow into a chair for himself.

"Earlier, sir," Hermione said, crossing her legs beneath her on the chair, "what spell did you use?"

He settled into his chair, though he sat ramrod straight. "A Silencing Charm. This conversation cannot be overheard."

She felt her heartbeat quicken. "Oh."

Professor Snape raised one eyebrow. "Indeed. A rather articulate response, Miss Granger."

She knew he was baiting her; she chose to remain silent, looking downward so she could attempt to hide her embarrassment.

"The Malfoys," he said smoothly, when she continued to wait in silence, "are one of the oldest Pure-blood families in Wizarding Britain. No _doubt _young Mr. Malfoy informed you of this the very day you met him. It's a source of pride and power to him and Lucius."

"Yes, sir. I know."

He nodded stiffly. "You have also been made aware that ... certain Pure-blood families have ideologies which - "

" - Which aren't unlike Hitler?" Hermione interrupted angrily, lifting her head and looking him squarely in the eye. She covered her mouth almost instantaneously, and regarded his face, worried, "I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have interrupted."

"No, you shouldn't have," he agreed, curtly. "But it was an ... apt assessment."

She smiled faintly, relaxing a little.

"The Malfoys," he continued, "are such a family."

Hermione nodded and smiled grimly. "I know. Draco talks about it almost constantly. But I don't understand, sir. They don't know that I'm Muggle-born. I haven't told anyone."

He frowned repressively. "The Malfoys do not know, Miss Granger, but the Manor _does_."

She hesitated. Had she heard him correctly? "Sir? The - Manor?"

Professor Snape sighed deeply. He suddenly looked very tired. "Dark Magic, Miss Granger, is a very powerful thing. There are ... enchantments, books, varying objects laced with spells - anything you can _think_ of, that can be used to harm Muggle-borns."

She stared at him, unblinking. "And ... the Manor is that object?"

"Not Malfoy Manor specifically," he said. He rubbed the bridge of his large nose with his thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes. "Items within the Manor, certainly."

And suddenly, she understood. Her eyes widened fearfully. "Which items, sir?"

He stared back at her in silence for a long moment, studying her. "I do not know them all," he said simply.

Hermione chewed on the edge of her thumb with a furrowed brow. "What - what should I do, sir?"

"You shouldn't have come in the first place," he said, and his voice was angry again.

"But how was I supposed to know?" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands up with exasperation. "You never told me!"

"No," Professor Snape agreed very softly, and exhaustion crept all over his face again. "No, _I_ never told you."

Hermione was suddenly very certain that the anger she'd witnessed from him tonight wasn't directed toward her at all. It was directed toward himself.

For several long moments, silence reigned.

"Sir," Hermione ventured at length, looking at her hands, "Why ... why do you think I was sorted into Slytherin?"

She knew her voice sounded small and pathetic, but she didn't care. She needed to know his opinion.

"I am not sure I know what you mean, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, with an irritated expression. "You had the hat placed on your head, the words were spoken, and that is the way of it."

"You _know_ what I mean, Professor," Hermione pressed, looking up at him. She scooted to the end of her chair closer to him, and her knees nearly touched his. "Why this? Why all _this_?" Her little hands gestured wildly as she struggled to control her voice. "Everyone in Slytherin hates me - hates who I really am. I have to listen to them talk every day of how much they hate Muggles and Muggle-borns - how they wish they were all dead." She looked up at him meaningfully. "And _I'm_ one of them."

Her chest heaved a bit, and she was embarrassed to find that tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes.

"Why, professor? I ... I don't understand. Why wasn't I sorted into Ravenclaw? Or Gryffindor?" Her whisper was barely audible. There was more she wanted to say, but she didn't quite trust herself to speak anymore.

Professor Snape, for his part, was silent. Hermione refused to look at him. She was quite suddenly feeling the painful sting of being emotionally ostracized for the past year, and she was worried that if she made eye contact with her Head of House, that she might, in fact, lose it.

But what happened next was so unexpected that _had_ Hermione lost control of her faculties, she was certain she would have been shocked back into silence anyway.

Eyes still downcast, lips trembling, Hermione suddenly felt Professor Snape's fingertips gently graze her cheek until his palm rested soundly on the side of her face. She froze, genuinely startled.

"Look at me, Miss Granger," he murmured.

She shook her head and stared downward, completely unprepared. These rare and unguarded moments where Professor Snape was actually, well ... nice, left her feeling flustered, exposed, and confused. She hated the feeling of helplessness.

"Look at me," he repeated, though there was no rancor in his voice.

She swallowed once, loudly, and then very slowly managed to lift her gaze.

Professor Snape was leaning forward and staring at her intently. His black eyes, like always, were difficult to meet. They appeared as though they were looking straight through her, into the deepest recesses of her soul.

"Life," he said gravely, "is never fair."

She stared back at him, unblinking. Something shifted in his eyes and there was a sudden sadness in his voice that wasn't there before. "Trust that the Sorting Hat must have seen some reason beyond your mere understanding to sort you into Slytherin."

"But can you think of why?"

"I cannot answer you, Miss Granger, because I have asked myself the same question." He drew his hand back and sat tall in his chair, smoothing his robes with his hands. "Perhaps the answer will be revealed in time."

Hermione frowned. She pulled on a loose thread of her green sock. "No one knows the real me, besides you and Professor Dumbledore. I hate living a lie."

Oddly, Professor Snape's lips quirked upward for a fraction of a second, as though he knew exactly what she was talking about. A moment later, however, it was gone.

"Perhaps you won't always have to."

"But - "

He held up his hand to stop her. "Enough, Miss Granger. Lamenting over that which you cannot control will accomplish nothing. And," he added, significantly, raising his index finger, "if I _ever_ hear you say you wish you had been sorted into _Gryffindor_," he spat the word with disgust, "I shall never speak with you again."

Hermione snorted and caught herself before she laughed fully. She was fairly certain that Professor Snape was, in fact, being completely honest. A blind person could easily see how much Professor Snape disliked Gryffindor.

"Now," he said stiffly, in a very business-like tone, "I want you to recite to me in _exacting_ detail every last thing you have touched within this household, Miss Granger." His eyes bored into hers. "Leave nothing out."

* * *

It was a long, draining process.

Severus drilled the girl. Each and every _inch_ of the Manor that she could have possibly touched was discussed. Silverware she had handled, towels she had used, chairs she had sat upon, areas she had walked - all of it. Severus made her tell him again and again. Toward the end of his interrogation he could tell she was getting frustrated with his repetitiveness, but he did not care. He was unrelenting. No mistakes could be made.

Severus knew, of course, of Lucius' secret chamber beneath the drawing-room floor. The majority of his Dark magical items were stored there for when Ministry officials launched surprise raids. Severus still suspected, however, that there were Dark spells within the Manor designed specifically to harm Muggle-borns. Lucius had alluded to as much, and Severus had every reason to take him at his word. The fact that Miss Granger hadn't unknowingly stumbled upon something was a small miracle.

The scenario where Miss Granger's true blood status was revealed to the Wizarding world, Severus knew, could never happen. The Dark Lord had been vanquished, true enough, but Death Eaters still skulked throughout Wizarding society unseen - many of whom were parents of his students. That the Dark Lord was not currently in power made little difference. The ideas of Pureblood supremacy still existed. Muggle-borns needed to be cautious.

Hermione Granger would not even be safe within the walls of her school, being in his House.

It was toward the end of his interrogation that Severus noticed how tired she was. He glanced at the clock on the wall and realized her lack of energy was probably warranted. Though he was accustomed to late night wanderings and surviving on a few hours of sleep, she was not.

"Miss Granger."

Her head jerked up obediently and she regarded him with bleary eyes.

She had grown a bit over the summer, Severus noticed. Indeed, he had seen her everyday for nine months, and the absence of seeing her for the past three made him acutely aware of even the smallest changes. Even in the low light of her room, he could see that her face was tanned, and the freckles on her nose were more prominent. She had grown into her face more, though it was still obscured by her massive, bushy brown hair.

"Sir?"

He cleared his throat. "It is late," he said brusquely. "Clearly you are tired. I shall excuse myself and see you tomorrow morning at breakfast."

She frowned. "You're staying here, sir? Why?"

"I have known Lucius for longer than you have been alive," he said, irritated. "My business with him is none of your concern." He stood up and transfigured his chair back to its true pillow-form and sent it sailing across the room to where he had first summoned it.

"And if you think I'm leaving you unattended in _this_ house, Miss Granger, you are quite mistaken."

He stood abruptly and stared down at her.

"Good evening, Miss Granger."

And he crossed the room in a fluid motion without another word, closing the door soundly behind him.

* * *

Breakfast was an awkward affair.

After her late night run-in with Professor Snape, Hermione had been all but completely paranoid as she got ready that morning. She peered cautiously around corners, walked only in places she knew she had been before, and regarded her toothbrush accusingly - as though it might hex her at any moment.

Professor Snape's revelation about Malfoy Manor frightened her more than she cared to admit. Draco's museum-like home that had initially inspired awe and power was now very much alive and frightening - like those haunted house movies her father so loved to watch. It made her feel vulnerable and scared.

She was infinitely grateful that Professor Snape was there with her.

"Hermione!" Draco called happily from the lavish breakfast table the moment Hermione came down the stairs. "What took you so long? The food is getting cold." He poured himself a cup of steaming tea and smiled dashingly. Mr Malfoy was sitting at the head of the table near the fireplace with Professor Snape sitting just to his right. They both glanced in her direction as she entered the room, but remained absorbed in their quiet conversation, choosing not to address her.

Mrs. Malfoy, who was sitting next to Draco, smiled warmly at her. "Don't worry about being late, Hermione," she said kindly, "I'll have Dobby make you something straight away."

Hermione glanced at the table, which had an impressive smattering of sausage, eggs, beans, and various fruits that would have probably fed half of Slytherin.

_She wants to have him make ... more?_

"Er, there's no need, Mrs. Malfoy." Hermione said uncomfortably. "Perhaps if you could just cast a Warming Charm on the beans? This really looks lovely."

"You're sure?"

Hermione pulled up a chair cautiously next to Draco and nodded. "Yes, it looks brilliant."

She sat down slowly - carefully - and when she wasn't cursed into oblivion, she relaxed and reached for the tea.

"What took you so long? You're usually down here before I ever get out of bed," Draco quipped.

Hermione poured some honey into her tea. "Er, I was just doing some reading is all," she supplied, stirring her tea vigorously. "I ... lost track of the time."

Draco nodded. "Can you believe we go back to Hogwarts so soon? I can't _wait_ to go buy my broom. I wonder when tryouts the House teams will be?"

Hermione buttered a nearby croissant. "I don't know. I bet Professor Snape can tell you though, once he's done talking with your father."

Draco and Hermione looked down the long dining room table to where Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape sat, talking quietly amongst themselves. As soon as Hermione's eyes fell onto Professor Snape, he glanced up at her. She immediately looked away.

"I doubt it," Draco grumbled. "He doesn't like Quidditch the way McGonagall does."

"He supports Slytherin," Hermione countered. "He was at every game last year."

"Yeah," said Draco, "but he's just not as into it, you know? You can tell. It's kind of like you."

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe," she said, "but just because he might not be obsessed with it like a lot of people are, doesn't mean he won't know the House schedule. He'll want Slytherin to win." Hermione suddenly thought of her conversation with Professor Snape the night before, and she added with a smile, "Especially against Gryffindor."

Draco nodded in emphatic agreement. "I'll talk with him when he's finished with father."

"Ah, yes," said Mrs. Malfoy, as she passed a plate full of delicious fruit to Hermione. "Your father will take you both to Diagon Alley today to pick up your things for school. He has an appointment at the Ministry this afternoon, a very important one, so you won't have time to dawdle."

"We won't!" Draco said excitedly. "Hermione's got loads of lists already for everything she needs, and I already know straight where I'm headed." He looked as though he might bound out of his chair with excitement. "I can't wait to get the new Nimbus 2001!"

Hermione groaned internally.

During the entire course of her stay at Malfoy Manor, she hadn't escaped a day without Draco talking about the Nimbus 2001. Though she cared little for brooms in general, Draco had spoken of the Nimbus 2001 so much that she was certain she could recite all its specifications and maintain a legitimate conversation about the broom with even the most skilled Quidditch player.

"I trust you have all your account information ready, Hermione?" Mrs. Malfoy asked.

Hermione set her croissant down on the spotless china and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, yes. My parents made sure I had everything in order before I came here. I'll be able to bill Gringotts directly."

Mrs. Malfoy smiled warmly. "Excellent! Well, you two better finish up, it looks as though Severus and your father are finished, and your father can't afford to be late to his meeting, Draco."

"Yes, mother," Draco said, wolfing down the remainder of his eggs. Hermione plucked at some red grapes and threw a handful in her mouth.

"Manners, Draco!" Mr. Malfoy snapped from the other end of the table. He and Professor Snape were now standing behind the table and both watching them closely.

"You're eating like you don't know when your next meal with be!" he sneered. "At least _try_ to behave like a Malfoy."

"Lucius - " Mrs. Malfoy said, frowning.

"No, I don't have time for this, Narcissa." Mr. Malfoy snapped. "Draco, get your things. We're leaving now. Miss Granger? If you don't have your account information on your person, I suggest you retrieve it immediately."

Hermione swallowed and stood quickly, bumping the table with her knees and she did so. " - Er, sorry."

Mrs. Malfoy shook her head with a forced smile. "Not at all, dear. Don't worry."

Hermione ducked past Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape and dashed up the stairs to grab her satchel, wand, and list of books for the coming year that she hadn't already purchased. When she returned, Mr. Malfoy and Mrs. Malfoy were whispering furiously at one another, Draco was just returning from the east wing, and Professor Snape stood motionless at the corner of the room.

When their eyes met, he motioned her over to him.

"Yes, sir?"

"Were there any ... _incidents_ this morning?" he asked significantly, in almost a whisper.

Hermione shook her head. "No. None, sir."

"Good." He straightened his robes and stood tall. "I have business of my own to attend to. I should be back here by the time you return."

Hermione nodded. "All right. Oh - I was going to ask you!" She reached into her pocket and unfolded a piece of parchment. "Do you happen to know who Gilderoy Lockhart is?"

To her surprise, Professor Snape's eyes narrowed. "A pathetic excuse for a wizard."

Hermione blinked and looked up at him. "Why? Who is he, sir?"

Professor Snape smiled grimly. "Your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"Really?" said Draco with raised eyebrows, sauntering over to them. "He can't be all bad though, sir. He certainly can't be as bad as Quirrell, can he?" he laughed.

Mr. Malfoy, who was making his way to the fireplace, was not amused. "Enough, Draco," he said icily. "I haven't time for this. Into the fireplace, and hurry."

Draco frowned, but grabbed a handful of soot out of an onyx bowl next to the mantle.

"The - fireplace?" Hermione asked, incredulous.

Professor Snape looked down at her. "The Floo network is another way of traveling, Miss Granger. One of many methods, as I'm sure you now understand."

"This is ridiculous, Severus," Lucius spat, gesturing toward Hermione. "How could the girl have been brought up by _M__uggles_? It's like she's a Mud-"

"_Don't_, Lucius," Professor Snape cut in darkly.

And Hermione _felt_ the fury of his voice. Looking at up him, the contempt on his face chilled her.

Oh, Professor Snape could be intimidating. There was no doubt of that. But this was different. Standing here now, he actually seemed dangerous.

"_Don't_," Professor Snape repeated. The naked fury in his voice ...

Mr. Malfoy sneered, but said nothing more; he stormed past Draco to grab his own handful of soot, threw the powder inside the mantle, and disappeared inside green flames.

Professor Snape cleared his throat and looked to Mrs. Malfoy, "I apologize - "

"Nonsense, Severus. It's fine. You ... you know how - never mind. Please, don't worry yourself."

Professor Snape nodded. "I'll return this afternoon."

"Of course. Thank you for stopping by, Severus," she said. "I'll show you out, of course."

"Thank you," he said, and then looked down at Hermione. "Miss Granger, if I get even an inkling that you've tried something out of line today, I'll see to it that you get an ... _intimate_ familiarity with the Muggle bathroom cleaning tools this term. Am I understood?"

Hermione looked at him but didn't respond.

"Miss Granger? I'm not in the habit of repeating myself."

Hermione fidgeted anxiously with the strap of her satchel. She did not answer him.

Professor Snape looked over at Draco, who was still holding his powder. "Go on ahead, Draco. Miss Granger will be along in a moment."

Draco nodded belatedly, looking back at Hermione with a bit of concern on his pale face, and threw his handful of powder into the fireplace.

"Diagon Alley!"

The next moment, he was gone.

Hermione stared at the empty fireplace with a mixture of shock and horror.

"I'll meet you at the front door, Severus, once you've seen Hermione through," said Mrs. Malfoy. "Enjoy yourself today, Hermione."

Hermione swallowed, not looking at Draco's mother. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

Professor Snape stepped toward Hermione. "Miss Granger - "

"I don't want to stay here anymore," Hermione said very quickly, nearly tripping over her words. She looked down at her feet and then ahead into the empty hearth.

Professor Snape stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Mr. Malfoy ...," she muttered, her eyes flickering up to his, briefly, and then away again, "he hates my parents. He hates _me_. What if he finds out - "

"Be silent!" he demanded in a harsh whisper, stepping toward her and literally covering her mouth with his hand. "I will _not_ have this conversation with you here, Miss Granger. You have a brain, now use it."

Hermione backed away from him, close to tears.

"Into the fireplace, Miss Granger," Professor Snape ordered. He stared down at her, eyes shining with urgency. "We can have this conversation again at Hogwarts, but I will say nothing more now. It is not the time for it." He gestured to the hearth. "Step into the fireplace."

Hermione hesitated.

"Miss Granger, do not try my patience. I shall be here when you return. You have nothing to fear."

Hermione nodded slowly and stumbled into the hearth next to the fire. Professor Snape offered her the bowl full of glittering powder. Hermione grasped a handful and stared back at him blankly.

"Close your eyes, Miss Granger. The soot will sting."

She did so, and then tossed the powder to the flame beside her. The fire felt like a warm breeze; she opened her mouth and immediately swallowed a lot of hot ash.*

"D-Dia-gon Alley,*" she coughed.

It felt as though she were being sucked down a giant drain. She seemed to be spinning very fast - the roaring in her ears was deafening - she tried to keep her eyes open but the whirl of green flames made her feel sick - something hard knocked her elbow and she tucked it in tightly, still spinning and spinning - now it felt as though cold hands were slapping her face - squinting, she saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond - her breakfast was churning inside her - she closed her eyes again wishing it would stop, and then - *

She fell, face forward, onto cold stone. Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, she gingerly got to her feet. She was quite alone, but _where_ she was, she had no idea. All she could tell was that she was standing in the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop - but nothing in here was ever likely to be on Hogwart's school list.*

"D-Draco?" she coughed? "Mr. Malfoy?"

A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling.*

"Draco?" Hermione called again. She reached into her pocket with a shaky hand and grabbed her wand.

Suddenly, she saw them through the glass window of the door, walking toward the shop.

A little bell rang as Mr. Malfoy entered the shop.

"Miss Granger!" he exclaimed. "What happened to you?" He gestured with his cane to her soot-covered clothes with evident disgust. Draco came through the door behind him.

Hermione coughed loudly. "I think I ... said the name wrong. I breathed in some ash and - coughed." She looked around the dodgy shop and back at Mr. Malfoy. "I ended up here."

"I see," sneered Mr. Malfoy. He cleared his throat. "Draco and I need to visit this shop privately. Perhaps you'll give us a moment, Miss Granger, and wait outside?"

Hermione nodded and ducked past them quickly, pushing the door open. _Anything to get away from you. _She let it shut behind her loudly. She stared around. She had emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one she'd just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads and, two doors down, a large cage was alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were watching her from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other.*

_Where am I?_

She started up the street, in an attempt to find a way out into Diagon Alley, when she heard Draco's voice through part of a broken window.

" ... everyone seems to think he's so _smart_, wonderful _Potter_ with his _scar_ and his _broomstick - _"*

Hermione frowned. _Harry?_

"You have told me this at least a dozen times already. And I would remind you that that it is not - prudent - to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear - ah, Mr. Burgin."*

Hermione, giving way to curiosity, ducked down below the broken window and struggled to listen further.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," came a voice - Mr. Burgin's voice. "Delighted - and young Master Malfoy, too - charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, a very reasonably priced - *"

"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," said Mr. Malfoy.*

"Selling?"

The voice seemed nervous.

"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids," said Mr. Malfoy. There was a pause and a rustling of a piece of parchment. "I have a few - ah - items at home that might embarrass me if the Ministry were to call ..."*

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"*

"I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act - no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it."*

_Mr. Weasley? Ron - Weasley's dad?_

" - and as you can see, certain of these potions might make it _appear_ - "*

Hermione's eyes widened and she felt her heartbeat quicken.

"I understand, sir, of course," said Mr. Borgin. "Let me see ... "*

"Can I have _that?_" interrupted Draco.*

Hermione tried to summon the courage to peek through the window to see what Draco must be pointing to. _No. Better to stay hidden. _

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Mr. Borgin. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder. Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has a fine taste, sir."*

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, "No offense, sir, no offense meant - "*

"Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still, "that may be all he is fit for - "*

"It's not my fault," retorted Draco.* "Hermione's the best in our year and she's - "

"- Being raised by filthy Muggles." Mr. Malfoy cut in.

Outside the shop, Hermione's heart sank. She swallowed thickly, and tried not to cry.

"It's the same all over," said Mr. Borgin, with an oily voice. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere - "*

"Not with me," snarled Mr. Malfoy.

"No, sir, nor with me, sir," said Mr. Borgin.*

"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," said Mr. Malfoy shortly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today."*

Hermione had heard enough. Mr. Malfoy's words hurt more than she cared to admit. She moved from her crouched position slowly, and hurried up the alleyway until she was out in bright sunlight.

Five minutes later, Mr. Malfoy and Draco emerged from Diagon Alley, both looking less than happy with themselves. "Come, Miss Granger," said Mr. Malfoy, sneering at the wizarding public around them. "We'll start with the books first."

They hurried along to Flourish and Blotts. Hermione did her best to dust herself off along the way. She was a mess after traveling through the wrong floo grate, and she suspected she still looked dreadful.

Outside the bookshop, there was an enormous line. Mr. Malfoy cursed loudly. "I cannot afford to be late!"

"Let's hurry inside, father," Draco offered quickly. "We'll be fast."

As they approached the bookshop, they saw a banner proclaiming:

_GILDEROY LOCKHART_

_will be signing copies of his autobiography_

_MAGICAL ME*_

_today 10:30 am to 2:20 pm_

"I wish we had more time to actually meet him," Hermione whispered to Draco, hoping Mr. Malfoy couldn't hear. "I mean, he's written almost the whole booklist!*"

The crowd appeared to be made of mostly of witches Mrs. Malfoy's age. There was a harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies ... Don't push, there ... mind the books, now ... "*

Hermione, Draco, and Mr. Malfoy squeezed inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books.* Draco and Hermione each grabbed a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ and* sneaked around the line to search for the rest of the items remaining on their list.

When Hermione turned around to see if Mr. Malfoy was following, she immediately saw a family of ginger hair to her right, and next to them, Harry Potter.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, excitedly. She tried to push through the crowd. "Harry!"

Harry looked around the crowded bookshop at the sound of his name before he spotted her, and he smiled broadly. "Hermione!" he waved. "Hey! Over here!"

Hermione forced her way through the crowd, bumping people along the way - "Oh! Sorry. Excuse me! Pardon!" - until she finally made her way over and stopped in front of him. "Harry! How are you? How was your summer?" she asked in a rush.

After her depressing morning, she never thought she'd be so happy to see him.

"The last part was brilliant," said Harry, scratching the back of his head and smiling. "I've been staying at the Burrow for about a month, now. Ron told me you'd both been writing - I'm sorry I never wrote back. It's - well, it's a long story. I'll have to tell you about it on the train."

"It's fine," Hermione assured him, pushing a stand of bushy hair out of her face. "I'm just glad you're all right!"

"Yeah, I'm fine, now. I can't wait to get back to Hogwarts!"

"Me, too! I've been _dying_ to practice all of these spells I've been reading about! I'm actually very excited to try this particular potion where you - "

"_Bloody hell_, Granger!" Weasley groaned. His ginger head had just popped above the crowd. His face was freckled and annoyed. "We still have two days! No sense in bringing up books yet."

"Weasley, there was a recommended summer reading list and that's just as good as an assignment - "

"_Recommended_, Granger. Not _required_. I spent my summer doing better things."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Like what, Weasley?"

A stout ginger-haired women approached with a young girl behind her. "Oh, there you are, good," she said. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute ... "*

"Oh, hello," she said kindly, looking at Hermione.

"Oh, er, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said uncertainly, apparently thinking his friend would not be civil enough for proper introductions, "this is my friend, Hermione Granger."

"Hermione, you say? What a - lovely name."

Hermione offered her hand to Mrs. Weasley. "Nice to meet you, Ma'am."

Mrs. Weasley took it, though she appeared rather distracted. "And you as well, dear. Oh! Look! There he is!"

Hermione looked to where Mrs. Weasley was pointing. Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into her view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzling white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.*

He was, Hermione thought, rather handsome.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.*

"Out of the way, there," he snarled at Weasley, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the _Daily Prophet - "*_

"Big deal,*" said Weasley.

It appeared that Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Weasley - and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It _can't_ be Harry Potter?"*

Harry ducked and tried to slink back between Hermione and Weasley.

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry's arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause.*

"What's _his _problem?" Weasley grumbled.

"No idea," said Hermione, standing on her tip-toes to see better. "Poor Harry. I don't think he likes all the attention."

"Yeah," muttered Weasley, scratching his neck.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Gilderoy said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!"*

"When young Harry here stepping into Flourish and Blotts today; he only wanted to buy my autography - which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge - " The crowd applauded again. "He had _no idea_," Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, "that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me._ Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"*

The crowd cheered and clapped.

"Him?" Weasley said to Hermione. "But he's a buffoon!"

Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently overheard her son, scolded, "Ron! That's quite enough!"

Harry had just been presented with what appeared to be the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart, and he staggered through the crowd.

"You have these," Harry mumbled to the young girl next to Mrs. Weasley, "I'll buy my own - *"

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said a voice behind Hermione.

_Draco._

She groaned and turned around to face him. They hadn't even started school yet and already they were going at it with one another.

"_Famous _Harry Potter," said Draco. "Can't even go into a _bookshop_ without making the front page."*

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!"* the young ginger-haired girl said. Hermione assumed she was Weasley's younger sister.

"Potter, you've got yourself a _girlfriend!_"* drawled Draco. The girl went scarlet.

Weasley finally piped up. "You're surprised to see Harry here, eh?"

"Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley," retorted Draco. "I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."*

"Draco!" Hermione scolded, shocked.

Weasley went as red as his sister. He dropped his books into a cauldron and started towards Draco, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket.*

"Ron!" said a tall man who could only be Ron's father. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here, let's go outside."*

"Well, well, well, - Arthur Weasley."*

Hermione flinched. It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco's shoulder, and sneered in just the same way.*

"Lucius," said Authur Weasley, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," said Mr. Malfoy. "All those raids ... I hope they're paying you overtime?"*

He reaching into Ron's sister's cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.*_

"Obviously not," Mr. Malfoy said. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"*

Hermione gasped.

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or his sister.

"We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,*" he said.

"Clearly," said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. "Muggle-lover, aren't you? And I thought your family could sink no lower - "

There was a thud of metal as the cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from someone; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!", the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please - please!"*

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up - "

Hermione saw an enormous figure emerge above the crowd; it was Hagrid, from school. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an _Encyclopedia of Toadstools._ He was still holding Ron's sister's old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.*

"Here, girl - take your book - it's the best your father can give you - " Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip, he beckoned to Draco and Hermione and swept from the shop.

"You're with _him?_" Weasley shouted accusingly at Hermione.

"No! You don't understand," Hermione cried. "I - I'm staying with Draco ... I didn't, I don't ... "

"Miss Granger!" Mr. Malfoy shouted, popping his head back into the store. "Now!"

Hermione hurried toward the door, and looked back over her shoulder at her Gryffindor friends. "I'm sorry, Harry - Weasley - I'm ... I'm sorry." And then she turned and ducked through the door and disappeared outside the shop.

* * *

As soon as they were out in the alley, Mr. Malfoy told Hermione and Draco they had ten minutes to gather the rest of what they needed, or they would have to find their own way home. Draco immediately ran into _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ and got his Nimbus 2001, Hermione ducked into Gringotts to make sure everything regarding her account was in order, and they both shot into _Scribbulus Changing Inks _to stuff their satchels full of quills, ink, and parchment. Hermione was privately grateful she had ordered the majority of her books by owl before arriving at Malfoy Manor. Draco, it seemed, would need to have the rest of his things shipped to him within the next few days.

Hermione was mostly silent as she finished her purchases, steering well clear of Mr. Malfoy as much as she was physically able. She noticed a thick, pulsing vein running along the length of his forehead, and was afraid it might burst at any moment. His eye, she now saw, was turning a deep shade of purple.

"Well," he spat, as they jogged over to him. Hermione was trying to keep her ink bottle from tipping over, and Draco was attempting to juggle carrying both his bag and his new broom.

"I don't care if you're finished or not - we're leaving."

"It's fine, father," Draco tried to assure him, "we've finished."

"Good," Mr. Malfoy hissed, turning on his heel. "Let's go - keep _up_, Miss Granger!"

Hermione had to run to match his pace. Beside her, Draco was bobbling his new purchases. She gave him a significant look, but he ignored her, and ran alongside his father. Hermione frowned and hurried along. She did not want to make Mr. Malfoy any angrier than he already was.

At length, they reached a series of hearths lining the alleyway, where several witches and wizards flashed in and out of existence in bright bursts of green flame. Hermione grabbed a handful of Floo powder and privately vowed that this time she would speak her destination correctly.

"Malfoy Manor!"

* * *

It was evening when Lucius met him in the private library of the Manor.

His old friend walked stiffly through the massive walnut doors and closed them soundly behind him. Without a word, he strode across the room and past the fireplace where Severus stood, and poured himself a brandy from the serving bar.

He took a long, elaborate drink.

After a long moment he set his glass down and turned to Severus. "Well," he said irritably, "I'm interested to hear what it is that _you_ have to say of the day's events."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Events?"

Lucius poured another glass. His hand trembled slightly against the bottle. Severus could read him well. He was thunderous. "Don't play coy with me, Severus. I'm certain Draco regaled you a grand tale of what transpired earlier."

Severus snorted. He moved from his position at the fireplace and walked to the opposite side of the library and began scanning the contents of an ancient-looking shelf. It was, in fact, Miss Granger who had debriefed him on what transpired in Flourish and Blott's, as well as what she had overheard in Borgin and Burke's.

Severus had arrived at the Manor shortly after they did; Lucius had already left for the Ministry - though not before using _Reducto_ on a valuable vase in the entryway and shattering it into a million pieces. Miss Granger had immediately sought him out; the razor tension in her voice had made his heart pound wildly with the implications of it all as she nervously divulged the information she had overheard at Borgin's.

He could tell she desperately wanted to talk more on the subject, but he wouldn't allow it. It was dangerous enough a conversation at the best of times, let alone inside the walls of Malfoy Manor. Severus felt privately that it was something of a small miracle her blood-status hadn't been discovered during her stay here.

_Sheer dumb luck. _

Lucius was no fool, and Severus felt certain he could discover the truth if he at all became suspicious. It was best to get the girl out of here as soon as he possibly could while avoiding any topic of conversation that even came close to that arena.

"A fist-fight with Arthur Weasley?" Severus tsked, at length. "Really, Lucius ... "

"Do not presume to lecture me, Severus!" Lucius spat, slamming his glass down on the marble countertop and spilling his drink. "You forget yourself and your place!"

"And _you _forget yours!" Severus snapped, whirling around. His black robes spun dramatically with him, and settled long after he was still. "You walk a fine line, Lucius, and always have. If you start ruffling feathers at the Ministry, you will end up with enemies on every side."

Lucius laughed mirthlessly. "Severus, you blind fool, if you think _Arthur Weasley_ is a power ally within the Ministry - "

" - It goes _beyond_ Weasley," Severus hissed. "You let your precious ego get in the way and you'll limit - "

"I have bloody _Cornelius Fudge_ in my wand pocket, Severus," Lucius cut in, his pale eyes glinting in the low light by the fire. His words hung heavily in the air.

Severus started. _Fudge?_

"And more resources than even _you_ know of. I don't need your counsel on this."

Severus' own eyes narrowed and he took a step forward. "Then why did you call me here, Lucius? I haven't enough alcohol in me to listen to you tick off your many accomplishments and accolades."

Lucius laughed. "You always were a sarcastic bastard, weren't you, Severus?" he said wryly. "Are we not old friends?"

Severus stared at his purported friend. _Arrogant. Foolish. Blind. __So incredibly blind. _He thought of Draco, his godson, who was well on his way to turning into Lucius' clone. He hoped, at the very least, to have a different kind of influence on the boy.

"Are we?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow significantly, and summoned another shot glass to pour Severus a drink.

"You tell me."

* * *

_A/N: Okay, before the rotten tomatoes start flying ... I am so incredibly sorry that it took me a year to update this. I have to beg your forgiveness! This chapter is a long time coming. (Understatement of the century.) I just experienced the most insane year of my life: I got married, moved to Manhattan, moved to Switzerland for an internship, moved back to Manhattan - ah! You get the idea. Insanity at its finest. I'm still incredibly busy at the moment, but I'm happy to report that I've already started work on the next chapter. _

_I really struggled with the transition of this chapter and getting into Chamber of Secrets. I'm hoping to move the pace along a bit more quickly than with the first book, but still devote enough time to allow the main relationships to develop naturally and, hopefully, believably. _

_Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for your patience. I don't deserve you all! _

_A special thanks to borgprincess for being a fantastic and wonderfully patient beta. _


	13. Chapter 13

Miss Granger's last day at Malfoy Manor did not arrive soon enough, in Severus' opinion.

He had eaten little and slept even less while at his friend's home, completely ground down with the fear that Miss Granger might inadvertently trigger some hidden curse in the Manor meant only for Muggle-borns. And so when the morning of September 1 dawned bright and clear, and she made for London with the Malfoys, Severus felt the relief off his shoulders like a literal weight.

He apparated to Hogwarts immediately, hoping to spend the day in his own miserable solitude before the students arrived that evening. But as he stalked past Hagrid's cabin, he soon realized that hope had been in vain.

Gilderoy Lockhart emerged from the cabin, red cheeked and puffing like a pompous penguin.

_Fuck._

Severus hurried up the hill.

" - get you an autograph at anytime, my dear Hagrid! You have but to ask! Oh, ho there - Severus?" Lockhart laughed loudly, turning his attention on him. "Severus Snape, I daresay it _is_ you!" Lockhart sauntered over, clearly tipsy from drinking, and as Severus pressed on up the hill, he clapped his hand on Severus' back. "A pleasure to finally meet you, I'd say!"

Severus turned and slapped Lockhart's hand off him. "If you _ever_ touch me again, Lockhart," Severus seethed, "I assure you it will be the last thing you do on this earth."

Lockhart had the audacity to grin like an idiot. "Not a touchy person?" He hiccuped. "Why, that's quite fine, of course. When I was in Burma - have you ever been? - and negotiating a peace treaty with the dwarves, I met this fellow," he paused, and his brow furrowed as he fought to remember, "by the name of Bork, if I recall - yes! Bork! That ginger beard! How could I forget?"

Severus cursed to himself and set off for the castle once more.

"You see, _he_ didn't much like being touched either." Lockhart followed Severus happily up the trail, and it took every sheer ounce of willpower Severus possessed to not turn around and curse the idiot into oblivion.

" - Of course, that was after I wrestled that dragon in Peru. Can you believe it, good sir? A dragon!" he laughed loudly. "I have the photos, of course. I had been living in Machu Picchu for about two months when suddenly - "

Severus ignored him. His sanity depended on it. He feared if he listened to one more word from Lockhart's mouth, he'd either kill the idiot or himself.

_Either would be a mercy_, he mused, pressing forward.

As if running into Lockhart on his last day of freedom hadn't been torturous enough, as Severus swept through the courtyard and toward the main castle doors he suddenly recalled his meeting with Albus a few weeks earlier regarding the very man he was fleeing.

_"Lockhart, Albus? Gilderoy Lockhart?" _Severus had slammed the parchment bearing Lockhart's name down on the Headmaster's desk._ "Is this some sort of perverted joke? Or are you purposefully punishing me?"_

Albus had feigned that thrice-damned innocent look on his wrinkled face.

_"I believe even you can appreciate his credentials, Severus. Have you ever read any of Lockhart's work?" _The Headmaster had pulled out a copy of _Magical Me_ from his desk and scanned for an entry. _"It's quite impressive."_

_"He's a sham, Dumbledore! How is it that you, who professes to see all, are blind to that? He's afraid of his own damned shadow!"_

Albus had folded the book and marked a page with his index finger. He looked up at Severus curiously. _"I wasn't aware you and dear Gilderoy knew one another, Severus?"_

Severus gritted his teeth. What he had wanted to do was stamp his foot like a lunatic in a tantrum and grab the old man by the robes to shake some sense in him. _"I do not know him personally, Albus,"_ he said slowly,_ "as you are obviously aware, but it's clear - "_

_" - If you have any evidence to prove the man should not be around children, is not qualified, or has any legal entanglements, then speak, Severus. If not, the decision has been made."_

Severus had bit his lip to keep from shouting. Instead, he paced in front of the Headmaster's desk like a caged animal. _"How is it," _he managed after a moment, trying in vain to control his temper, "_that you took no thought to even _consider _me?"_

Albus put down Lockhart's book altogether and looked up at Severus with a sad smile on his face. _"You know I have need of you elsewhere, Severus."_

_"In Potions? If you have need of me, put me as Defense professor! You know I am the most qualified!"_

Albus had the audacity to actually smile. He pulled out a lemon drop from his candy jar, popping it into his mouth and sucking on it loudly. _"You are the most skilled in Potions."_

_"Are you trying to flatter me?" _Severus snarled. _"It won't work, Albus." _He paused then. Breathing loudly, he turned on the Headmaster and asked quietly, sincerely, _"Why is it that you hate me, Albus?"_

That seemed to take the old man by surprise, "_Severus ... "_

_"No, Albus. Stop." _Severus held up his hand. _"If you are not going to say something besides the absolute truth, I will not have it. Don't you dare coddle me or whisper empty words of assurance to further your own plans, Dumbledore," _he spat. _"For hating Slytherin as much as you do, you damn-well fit the stereotype."_

_"Severus," _Ablus said, a hint of warning in his voice.

_"No,"_ he shook his head. _"Enough. I'm__ done here. I can see that reason cannot dissuade you." _

And he had walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

"Bloody Dumbledore," Severus cursed to himself, now in the main castle entryway, even as he deftly side-stepped around Lockhart and made for the dungeons. "The classic fool."

* * *

Hermione was admittedly worried when the _Hogwarts Express_ pulled away from Platform 9 3/4 and she hadn't seen any sign of Harry or Weasley. She searched through a few of the compartments, much to the annoyance of their inhabitants, until she stumbled upon Neville, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas.

"Hello," she said breathlessly. "Have any of you see Harry or Wea - er, Ron Weasley? I didn't see them out on the platform."

Dean and Seamus eyed her warily, but Neville responded happily, "No, Hermione. _I_ didn't see them, at least. But they've got to be on the train, haven't they? Anyway, I saw a girl who had to be Ron's little sister with some of the other first years. Ginger hair. Looks just like him. I'm sure they're here."

Hermione perked up at that. "Really? Thanks, Neville!" She rushed forward and gave him a small squeeze on the shoulders. "I was starting to wonder if they had missed the train."

Neville blushed a bit and ducked his head. Seamus coughed awkwardly while Dean looked interestedly out the window.

"Er, well ... I guess I'll see you all at the feast tonight," Hermione said, suddenly mortified that she had made physical contact with _a boy_, and one she hardly knew at that.

"Er, yeah. Brilliant," said Neville, ducking his chin to his chest, equally embarrassed.

Hermione bit her lip and exited the compartment as quickly as she could.

The remainder of the ride to Hogwarts was both long and uneventful. Hermione sat in a compartment with Millie and Theo Nott, and they all shared exchanges of how their holidays were. Millie had gone with her parents to Norway. She said that her family had Viking ancestry (this didn't surprise Hermione), and they still had relatives in the country. She showed them photos of herself and her family waving by a beautifully breathtaking fjord. Millie's mom looked like she had been a rugby player, and her father was positively massive. She had an older brother who looked like three men had been smashed into one. Regardless of their awkward appearances, they were all smiling and happy.

Hermione knew less of Theo. He was quiet and shy, and not at all unlike Neville Longbottom. After a few hours on the train together, however, he spoke more and talked of his family. He had an older sister who married a high ranking Ministry official. Millie seemed to know the name, while Hermione did not. Theo's father apparently did some sort of work for Mr. Malfoy, or at the very least, associated with him; Hermione didn't care to press the matter. The less she thought of Mr. Malfoy and her experience with him at Malfoy Manor, the better.

"How was your summer, Hermione? Did your Muggles treat you all right?" Millie asked sincerely.

"Yes," said Hermione, fidgeting with a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. "It was fantastic to see them. They're doing really well. We didn't do any big trips or anything, but I spent the last two weeks of the holiday with Draco's family and - "

"You - _what?_" Millie gasped.

Even Theo looked up at her, surprised.

Hermione frowned. "What?"

Millie leaned forward. "You spent _two _weeks at Draco's house? Are you mad? Does anyone else know? Does _Pansy_ know?"

Hermione swallowed. She hadn't thought of Pansy and the possible repercussions of spending time alone with her purported boyfriend over the holiday. "Er ... I don't know. I didn't think about it, actually. I forgot they were sort of ... a thing."

Theo snorted at that. "It's more than a thing, isn't it? I heard they're meant to be married as soon as we're of age."

Hermione folded the front page of _The Prophet_ nervously. "Look, I didn't mean anything by it. Draco invited me. I don't ... " She blushed, and then said in a rush, "I don't like Draco ... like that. At all." She looked back and forth between the pair of them, pleading with her eyes for understanding. "Sometimes he drives me mad just as a _friend_."

"Opposites attract," Millie said in a knowing air, sitting back and picking at a thread in her robes. "You never know. Maybe Draco fancies you."

Hermione blushed again. "He doesn't," she said, quickly. "Trust me. I'm ... well," she paused, fumbling for the right words, "... well, look at me. He - there's no way he fancies me."

"He might," Theo said, looking at her intently.

"He doesn't," Hermione assured them. "And I certainly don't fancy him."

There was an awkward silence as the train rattled along.

"Well," said Millie at length, "regardless, if Pansy finds out - you're dead."

Hermione looked out the window, bleakly.

_Great._

* * *

Hermione waited on the platform for Harry and Weasley, picking her way through the crowd of students as they poured off the _Hogwarts Express._ Strangely, she couldn't see either of them. She lingered as long as she dared, and then anxiously followed after her classmates to a row of carriages that were pulling themselves toward the castle.

As she approached the last of the carriages, she saw Weasley's older twin brothers laughing with a fourth year Gryffindor girl she didn't know. As they were about to climb into the carriage, she rushed over to them.

"Er ... Fred? George?" She looked back and forth between the two of them, having no clue which twin was which.

They both turned and looked down at her from the carriage. "Hey there, Granger, was it?" said one of the twins. "Rotten luck you got sorted into Slytherin last year. If you were in Gryffindor, we could have snuck you all kinds of stuff to get you out of class - "

"Careful, George," said Fred with a smirk. "Filch is just over there. We don't want our stash vanishing early this year."

The unknown girl laughed as she seated herself.

Hermione looked over her shoulder and saw the Squib yelling at a few older students from Hufflepuff. His limp, long hair hung around his face and his eyes were gleeful as he was likely threatening future possible detention punishments. She turned back to the Weasleys. "Er, have either of you seen your brother? Or Harry?" she asked, politely ignoring their Slytherin rebuff. "I never saw them on the train. Did they come to King's Cross with you?"

Fred - at least, Hermione thought it was Fred - laughed loudly. "Ron was right behind us before we crossed into Platform 9 3/4, and Harry, too. You don't think he's trying to steal our thunder and pull off a prank, do you George?" He asked, turning to his brother.

George seated himself next to the girl as the carriage started to move forward. "Not likely. Ol' Ronny's got a long way to go if he thinks he's up to our level yet."

"Later, Granger!" Fred called as the carriage pulled away, leaving Hermione standing alone.

She walked back to the last of the carriages, where Draco, Pansy, Victor Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle were settling in one of the few remaining.

"How do the carriages pull themselves?" Crabb was asking slowly.

"Magic, you halfwit," Draco grumbled.

Hermione walked past them as she made for the last carriage, where Millie and Theo were currently climbing in.

"Hey, Hermione!" Draco called, turning around and watching her climb in with her classmates. "There's room in ours. Come on."

Hermione laughed hollowly. With both Crabbe and Goyle's massive bodies occupying an entire bench, and the little room remaining being next to Pansy as she cuddled close to Draco, Hermione shook her head. "I don't think there's enough room, Draco," she called, pulling herself up. "Besides, it's only Millie and Theo here. It's more comfortable."

_That, and I don't want Pansy to murder me while I sleep._

The carriage lurched forward. Draco was about to retort as they moved along ahead of them, but Pansy pulled him onto the bench and scooted close to his side, linking her arm with his.

"See," Millie said, as their carriage picked up speed. "He _does _fancy you."

Hermione massaged her temples in frustration. With both Harry and Weasley missing, and Millie's insistence that Draco was somehow pinning over her, her temper was running short.

"Millie, he doesn't. And even if he did, I _do not_ fancy him, so there's no point in bringing it up."

"Why not?"

Hermione frowned. "Why not, _what_?"

Millie leaned forward. "Why don't you, you know, fancy him? He's ... well, he's rather good-looking. And he's rich. His father is very powerful and works for the Ministry. His family is one of the oldest Pure-blood families in Wizarding Britain; what's not to like?"

Theo observed Hermione closely, clearly interested in what her answer might be.

Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them, keenly aware that she was becoming increasingly irritated.

"Plenty," she offered after a moment, pushing her hair out of her face and looking at the castle as they slowly approached. "Look, can we just drop it? I - I just want to get to the castle."

The carriage went over a series of large rocks and began to bump and sway irregularly. "Potter and Weasley weren't on the train," Theo said quietly.

Hermione turned to him. "What?"

Theo turned his head, even as a flush of red appeared on his pale cheeks, and he looked up at the castle spires, embarrassed. "I know you were looking for Potter and Weasley earlier. They weren't on the train. I don't think they'll be at the castle."

"How do you know they weren't on the train?"

Theo blushed. "Well, he's Harry Potter, isn't he? _Everyone_ notices him. He wasn't there. And Weasley's always with him."

Hermione frowned and began chewing on her thumb nail. Theo _did_ have a point. Harry, whether you liked him or not, was rather noticeable. He was, after all, probably the most famous wizard in Britain - let alone the known Wizarding world. Being the only person to have ever survived the killing curse tended to make one noticeable.

At length, they reached Hogwarts, and the students began to loudly spill out of the carriages, pushing and shoving and laughing as they crossed the courtyard toward the main entrance of the castle. Hermione climbed down after Theo and Millie, and the three of them set across the courtyard, picking their way along as they caught up with Draco, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Slytherin will definitely beat Gryffindor in Quidditch this year," Goyle was saying.

"Obviously," Draco said haughtily. "I'll be on the team. And father's got a surprise for all our teammates."

"What is it?" Pansy asked, even as she hung on Draco's arm and looked up at him with sickening affection.

"You'll have to wait. I'm not supposed to talk about it yet."

"Look, I've got to check something," Hermione said to Millie and Theo and they moved along. "Save me a seat at the feast." She slung her daypack over her shoulder and sprinted off ahead.

Once inside, she darted over toward the Main Hall and stopped abruptly, searching frantically at the Gryffindor table. The only ginger-haired students she noticed were Weasley's twin brothers, and the eldest brother whom she did not know. Weasley himself and Harry were still missing. Hermione felt her heartbeat quicken. Could something have happened to them? You-Know-Who had tried to kill Harry only a few short months ago, and according to Professor Snape, he wasn't the only one who would try to hurt her friend if given the chance.

Anxiously, she glanced up at the Head Table and saw all of her professors milling about - save Professor Snape and Dumbledore.

Fighting the urge to swear, she bolted back out the way she had come, and hurried toward the dungeons to search for her Head of House.

Flying down the stairs in the low light, Hermione passed an instant of terror as she first made out a human form a few steps below her. Her heart tightened; she was halfway to a full-on scream, even as she jumped backwards, before she realized who it was.

"Professor Snape!" she gasped. "You - scared me!"

He smirked and climbed a few stairs until they were practically the same height. "That is ... most unfortunate," he drawled, clearly not sorry in the slightest.

_He likes scaring people,_ Hermione mused, before regaining her senses. "Professor," she said quickly, "I came to find you because I - I never saw Harry or Weasley on the train. They weren't on the platform when we arrived, and they're not in the Great Hall either. I was ... worried that maybe something happened."

His features immediately darkened. "You're certain you did not see them?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir. I searched almost every compartment on the train. No one said they saw him. Weasley's brothers - Fred and George - said they had seen him and Weasley back at King's Cross, but no one's seen them since. I was worried and thought - "

"Move," Professor Snape said, side-stepping her and charging up the stairs.

"But, sir - "

He whirled on her, "If what you say is true, Miss Granger, then Mr. Potter could be in a great deal of danger. And if he's not, he _will_ be once I'm finished with him for deliberately disobeying school rules. I need to inform the Headmaster."

She hurried up the stairs after him, but she was no match for his speed. "Professor - wait!"

He was already off the stairway, and called over his shoulder to her, "To the Great Hall, Miss Granger!" he bellowed. "If I find you've gone anywhere else, it will be two weeks detention!"

* * *

The Sorting was bleak.

Hermione did her best to pay attention, but she found herself looking over her shoulder every few moments, hoping to catch a glimpse of either Harry or Weasley being escorted through the great doorway with Professor Snape pinching their ears tightly. As it was, neither were at the Gryffindor table, and now she was more worried than ever.

She cheered and applauded with as much enthusiasm as she could when a new first-year was sorted into Slytherin, but she couldn't pay attention. Both Professor Dumbledore and Snape were still missing, and she was suddenly certain that something was very wrong.

While her fellow Slytherins chatted happily around her, Hermione moved the food around on her plate with her fork, making no move to eat. Pansy was giggling and whispering something to Draco beside her, and Hermione worried that if she did, in fact, try to eat something that she might gag. Millie and Theo were talking rather animatedly across the table from her, though no one was currently paying her much mind.

_It's just as well. I'm rotten company right now._

She glanced over her shoulder and stared at the Gryffindor table once more.

_Harry, where are you?_

It was at that very moment that Professor Snape swept suddenly and dramatically into the Great Hall.

Hermione dropped her fork and pushed out from bench. She was about to call out to him, to ask him if he knew anything yet, but the cold look of determination on his pale face silenced her, and she sunk back onto the bench and closed her mouth.

Every head turned and watched his brisk and effortless steps as he approached Professor McGonagall, who was still sorting the first-years. He leaned in and whispered something to her, and the reaction on her face was enough for Hermione to know it involved Harry and Weasley. _She's their Head of House, after all._

Professor McGonagall nodded at him and called Professor Vector forward to finish the sorting. A moment later, both she and Professor Snape were gone from the Hall.

Around her, murmurs erupted as the student body wondered aloud what was happening. Hermione had only attended one other Sorting, but it was obvious from the older students' reactions that three professors missing during the Opening Feast was something unprecedented.

Behind her, at the Hufflepuff table, she heard a prefect murmur, "I bet Snape's just killed someone. He's told McGonagall, but when he takes her to the body, he'll kill her, too."

Hermione whirled around, infuriated. Even for a Hufflepuff, that allegation was ridiculous.

"It's Harry Potter he's killed," another Hufflepuff was saying, "He wasn't on the train."

"It'll be _you_ next, if you don't mind your business," Hermione shouted angrily.

The prefect looked up at her, startled. A moment later, he appeared positively terrified and didn't utter another word.

"Brilliant," Draco told her in approval. "Snape could kill a bloody Hufflepuff in his sleep if he wanted to."

"_Professor _Snape isn't killing anyone," Hermione huffed, annoyed. "I just said it to get them to stop telling tales."

"Technically, _you_ told a tale just then," said Millie, pointing at Hermione with her fork.

"Yes," said Hermione hotly, "but it was only to get him to keep quiet. No one would actually _believe_ that rubbish."

Draco was suddenly leaning in close to her and whispering in her ear. "He's killed before, you know," he said, his breath tickling the side of her face. "That's why everyone's so afraid of him. They _respect _him for that."

Hermione rolled her eyes in frustration. "Not you, too! Where do you _get _this stuff? If Professor Snape had ever killed anyone, do you honestly believe he'd be a teacher? There's background checks and loads of other things that go into account to put adults in teaching positions - at least, that's how the Muggle world does it. The Wizarding world has to be the same."

Draco appeared to think on that for a long moment, and then he shrugged, apparently uncaring. "I know what I know, Hermione. He's my Godfather, and he's known my father for ages."

"Who did he kill then, if you're so knowledgeable?" she snapped. With Harry and Weasley missing, her last store of patience was fleeing her.

"I don't know," Draco replied, popping a grape into his mouth. "I just know that he has killed."

On the other side of him, Pansy smirked. "What's the matter, Hermione? You're not afraid, are you?"

Hermione groaned inwardly and stood up to leave. She was at her breaking point. She'd take a detention with Professor Snape for two weeks for leaving when she hadn't been dismissed - just as long as she didn't have to listen to this rubbish.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked. "The feast isn't over!"

"To the dungeons," Hermione snapped. "And I don't care. I need some air."

* * *

It was only when she had made her way around the final bend to get to the trap door of the Slytherin common room that Hermione felt she was being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end, and she felt her heart kick up in her chest. She stood there for a panicky moment, thinking. Slowly -_ slowly,_ she carefully moved her right hand toward her wand pocket. She hesitated for only an instant, and then she grabbed the shaft of her wand and whirled around frantically, pointing it wildly out in front of her.

"Who's there?" she gasped. "I know someone's there!"

Silence reigned. Licking her lips, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart in her ears, Hermione whispered, "_Lumos!_"

Light burst from her wand, and she angled the beam toward the corners and dark recesses down the corridor.

_Nothing._

"Hello?" she called out again, her voice trembling at the end.

After a few moments, Hermione finally found the courage to move. She half-ran the remainder of the way to the trap door, breathlessly muttered the password, and then slammed the door behind her. Breathing hard, she stared out at the warmly lit Slytherin Common room, taking a moment to calm her pounded heart.

_You're fine. You're just seeing things, is all. No one's there. _

She finally moved away from the door and made her way into the center of the common room, intending to linger for only a moment. The Feast would soon be over, and she'd rather be busy unloading her trunk than standing around idly, doing nothing.

She paused at the center of the room. Someone had evidently been here before she had; there was a fire roaring in the hearth.

_But everyone's at the feast ..._

She walked around two black leather couches and then nearly threw herself behind one of them as a loud _crack_ rippled behind her. She shrieked, ducked, and then drew her wand as she whirled around to see what had caused the noise.

A piece of parchment, the edges smoking, floated gracefully in the air until it landed silently on the onyx coffee table at the center of the room. Frowning, Hermione stood slowly and walked over to it, hesitating as she picked it up. The light from the fire danced across the parchment as she read.

_Detention, Miss Granger, _the note simply stated. _Tomorrow evening. My office. 8:00 pm._

Hermione's brow furrowed, and her gaze shot toward the trap door entrance.

_But how ..._

Out in the dungeons, a silent figure sheathed his wand, and disappeared into the darkness.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for the patience with this chapter, folks! It still took longer than I would have liked, but I'm glad it didn't take a year - like the last one. I'm happy to report that I am about 3,000 words into the next chapter, so I'm hoping the muse lingers and I have a new chapter to add shortly. Thank you all for the kind reviews. I truly am trying to be better at updating. A special thank you to Borgprincess for being my beta, and for having more patience than I would ever have with me. :) _


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